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THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 
BARONESS     ORCZY 


TTHR 
BRONZE  EAGLE 

A  Story  of  the  Hundred  Days 

By   BARONESS   ORCZY 

Author  of 

"The  Lavighing  Cavalier,"     "Unto  Caesar,** 

"El  Dorado,"     Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangement  with  George  H.  Doran  Company 


Copyright,  1915, 
Bt  Baroness  Obczt 


Copyright,  1915, 
Bt  Geosqe  H.  Doran  Coiipant 


This  novel  was  published  serially,  under  the  title  of  "Waterloo** 


$tack 
Annex 

CONTENTS  !./,<// 

csafter  page 

The  Landing  at  Jouan 9 

I.  The  Glorious  News 14 

II.  The  Old  Regime .  49 

III,  The  Return  of  the  Emperor 85 

IV.  The  Empress'  Millions .  138 

V.  The  Rivals 196 

VI.  The  Crime 221 

Vn.  The  Ascent  of  the  Capitol    ...    ^     ...     .  236 
VIII.  The  Sound  of  Revelry  by  Night     .     .     .     .     .     .261 

DC.  The  Tarpeian  Rock .  285 

X.  The  Last  Throw 30S 

XL  The  Losing  Hands       ...«••...*  338 

XIL  The  Winning  Hand 37o 


THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 


THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 


THE   LANDING   AT   JOUAN 

The  perfect  calm  of  an  early  spring  dawn  lies  over  head- 
land and  sea — hardly  a  ripple  stirs  the  blue  cheek  of  the 
bay.  The  softness  of  departing  night  lies  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  Mediterranean  like  the  dew  upon  the  heart  of  a 
flower. 

A  silent  dawn. 

Veils  of  transparent  greys  and  purples  and  mauves  still 
conceal  the  distant  horizon.  Breathless  calm  rests  upon 
the  water  and  that  awed  hush  which  at  times  descends 
upon  Nature  herself  when  the  finger  of  Destiny  marks  an 
eventful  hour. 

But  now  the  grey  and  the  purple  veils  beyond  the  head- 
land are  lifted  one  by  one;  the  midst  of  dawn  rises  up- 
wards like  the  smoke  of  incense  from  some  giant  censers 
swung  by  unseen,  mighty  hands. 

The  sky  above  is  of  a  translucent  green,  studded  with 
stars  that  blink  and  now  are  slowly  extinguished  one  by 
one :  the  green  has  turned  to  silver,  and  the  silver  to  lemon- 
gold  :  the  veils  beyond  the  upland  are  flying  in  the  wake 
of  departing  Night. 

The  lemon-gold  turns  to  glowing  amber,  anon  to  orange 
and  crimson,  and  far  inland  the  mountain  peaks,  peeping 
shyly  through  the  mist,  blush  a  vivid  rose  to  find  them- 
selves so  fair. 

And  to  the  south,  there  where  fiery  sea  blends  and 
merges  with  fiery  sky,  a  tiny  black  speck  has  just  come 

9 


10  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

into  view.  Larger  and  larger  it  grows  as  it  draws  nearer 
to  the  land,  now  it  seems  like  a  bird  with  wings  outspread 
— an  eagle  flying  swiftly  to  the  shores  of  France. 

In  the  bay  the  fisher  folk,  who  are  making  ready  for 
their  day's  work,  pause  a  moment  as  they  haul  up  their 
nets:  with  rough  brown  hands  held  above  their  eyes  they 
look  out  upon  that  black  speck — curious,  interested,  for  the 
ship  is  not  one  they  have  seen  in  these  waters  before. 

"'Tis  the  Emperor  come  back  from  Elba!"  says 
someone. 

The  men  laugh  and  shrug  their  shoulders:  that  tale 
has  been  told  so  often  in  these  parts  during  the  past  year: 
the  good  folk  have  ceased  to  believe  in  it.  It  has  almost 
become  a  legend  now,  that  story  that  the  Emperor  was 
coming  back — their  Emperor — the  man  with  the  battered 
hat  and  the  grey  redingote :  the  people's  Emperor,  he  who 
led  them  from  victory  to  victory,  whose  eagles  soared  above 
every  capital  and  every  tower  in  Europe,  he  who  made 
France  glorious  and  respected :  her  citizens,  men,  her  sol- 
diers, heroes. 

And  with  stately  majesty  the  dawn  yields  to  day,  the 
last  tones  of  orange  have  faded  from  the  sky:  it  is  once 
more  of  a  translucent  green  merging  into  sapphire  over- 
head. And  the  great  orb  in  the  east  rises  from  out  the 
trammels  of  the  mist,  and  from  awakening  Earth  and  Sea 
comes  the  great  love-call,  the  triumphant  call  of  Day. 
And  far  away  upon  the  horizon  to  the  south,  the  black 
speck  becomes  more  distinct  and  more  clear ;  it  takes  shape, 
substance,  life. 

It  divides  and  multiplies,  for  now  there  are  three  or  four 
specks  silhouetted  against  the  sky — ^not  three  or  four,  but 
five — no!  six — no!  seven!  Seven  black  specks  which  de- 
tach themselves  one  by  one,  one  from  another  and  from 
the  vagueness  beyond — experienced  eyes  scan  the  horizon 
with  enthusiasm  and  excitement  which  threaten  to  blur 


THE  LANDING  AT  JOUAN  11 

the  clearness  of  their  vision.  Anyone  with  an  eye  for 
sea-going  craft  can  distinguish  that  topsail-schooner  there, 
well  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the  tiny  fleet,  skimming  the  water 
with  swift  grace,  and  immediately  behind  her  the  three- 
masted  polacca — hm !  have  we  not  seen  her  in  these  waters 
before? — and  the  two  graceful  feluccas  whose  lateen  sails 
look  so  like  the  outspread  wings  of  a  bird ! 

But  it  is  on  the  schooner  that  all  eyes  are  riveted  now: 
she  skips  along  so  fast  that  within  an  hour  her  pennant 
is  easily  distinguishable — red  and  white!  the  flag  of  Elba, 
of  that  diminutive  toy-kingdom  which  for  the  past  twelve 
months  has  been  ruled  over  by  the  mightiest  conqueror  this 
modern  world  has  ever  known. 

The  flag  of  Elba!  then  it  is  the  Emperor  coming 
back! 

A  crowd  had  gathered  on  the  headland  now — a  crowd 
made  up  of  bare-footed  fisher-folk,  men,  women,  children, 
and  of  the  labourers  from  the  neighbouring  fields  and  vine- 
yards :  they  have  all  come  to  greet  the  Emperor — the  man 
with  the  battered  hat  and  the  grey  redingote,  the  curious, 
flashing  eyes  and  mouth  that  always  spoke  genial  words  to 
the  people  of  France! 

Traitors  turned  against  him — Ney !  de  Marmont !  Bema- 
dotte!  those  on  whom  he  had  showered  the  full  measure 
of  his  friendship,  whom  he  had  loaded  with  honours,  with 
glory  and  with  wealth.  Foreign  armies  joined  in  coali- 
tion against  France  and  forced  the  people's  Emperor  to 
leave  his  country  which  he  loved  so  well,  had  sent  him 
to  humiliation  and  to  exile.  But  he  had  come  back,  as 
all  his  people  had  always  said  that  he  would!  He  had 
come  back,  there  was  the  topsail-schooner  that  was  bring- 
ing him  home  so  swiftly  now. 

Another  hour  and  the  schooner's  name  can  be  deciphered 
quite  easily — L'Inconstayit,  and  that  of  the  polacca  Le 
Saint-Esprit  .  .  .  and   beyond   these   L'Etoile   and   Saint 


1«  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Joseph,  Ca/roline.  And  the  entire  little  fleet  flies  the  flag 
of  Elba. 

The  Emperor  has  come  back!  Bare-footed  fisherfolk" 
whisper  it  among  themselves,  the  labourers  in  the  valley 
call  the  news  to  those  upon  the  hills. 

Why!  after  another  hour  or  so,  there  are  those  among" 
the  small  knot  who  stand  congregated  on  the  highest  point 
of  the  headland,  who  swear  that  they  can  see  the  Emperor 
— standing  on  the  deck  of  the  U Inconstant. 

He  wears  a  black  bicorne  hat,  and  his  grey  redingote: 
he  is  pacing  up  and  down  the  deck  of  the  schooner,  his 
hands  held  behind  his  back  in  the  manner  so  familiar  to 
the  people  of  France.  And  on  his  hat  is  pinned  the  tri- 
colour of  France.  Everyone  on  shore  who  is  on  the  look- 
out for  the  schooner  now  can  see  the  tricolour  quite  plainly. 
A  mighty  shout  escapes  the  lusty  throats  of  the  men  on 
the  beach,  the  women  are  on  the  verge  of  tears  from  sheer 
excitement,  and  that  shout  is  repeated  again  and  again  and 
sends  its  ringing  echo  from  cliff  to  cliff,  and  from  fort 
to  fort  as  the  red  and  white  pennant  of  the  kingdom  of 
Elba  is  hauled  down  from  the  ship's  stern  and  the  tricolour 
flag — the  flag  of  Liberty  and  of  regenerate  France — is 
hoisted  in  its  stead. 

The  soft  breeze  from  the  south  unfurls  its  folds  and 
these  respond  to  his  caress.  The  red,  white  and  blue  make 
a  trenchant  note  of  colour  now  against  the  tender  hues 
of  the  sea :  flaunting  its  triumphant  message  in  the  face  of 
awakening  nature. 

The  eagle  has  left  the  bounds  of  its  narrow  cage  of  Elba: 
it  has  taken  wing  over  the  blue  Mediterranean!  within 
an  hour,  perhaps,  or  two,  it  will  rest  on  the  square  church 
tower  of  Antibes — ^but  not  for  long.  Soon  it  will  take 
to  its  adventurous  flight  again,  and  soar  over  valley  and 
mountain  peak,  from  church  belfry  to  church  belfry  until 
it  finds  its  resting-place  upon  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame." 


THE  LANDING  AT  JOUAN  IS 

One  hour  after  noon  the  curtain  has  risen  upon  the 
first  act  of  the  most  adventurous  tragedy  the  world  has 
ever  known. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte  has  landed  in  the  bay  of  Jouan 
with  eleven  hundred  men  and  four  guns  to  reconquer 
France  and  the  sovereignty  of  the  world.  Six  hundred 
of  his  old  guard,  six  score  of  his  Polish  light  cavalry, 
three  or  four  hundred  Corsican  chasseurs :  thus  did  that 
sublime  adventurer  embark  upon  an  expedition  the  most 
mad,  the  most  daring,  the  most  heroic,  the  most  egotistical, 
the  most  tragic  and  the  most  glorious  which  recording 
Destiny  has  ever  written  in  the  book  of  this  world. 

The  boats  were  lowered  at  one  hour  after  noon,  and  the 
landing  was  slowly  and  methodically  begun :  too  slowly 
for  the  patience  of  the  old  guard — ^the  old  "growlers"  with 
grizzled  moustache  and  furrowed  cheeks,  down  which  tears 
of  joy  and  enthusiasm  were  trickling  at  sight  of  the  shores 
of  France.  They  were  not  going  to  wait  for  the  return 
of  those  boats  which  had  conveyed  the  Polish  troopers  on 
shore:  they  took  to  the  water  and  waded  across  the  bay, 
tossing  the  salt  spray  all  around  them  as  they  trod  the 
shingle,  like  so  many  shaggy  dogs  enjoying  a  bath;  and 
when  six  hundred  fur  bonnets  darkened  the  sands  of  the 
bay  at  the  foot  of  the  Tower  of  la  Gabelle,  such  a  shout 
of  "Vive  I'Empereur"  went  forth  from  six  hundred  lusty 
throats  that  the  midday  spring  air  vibrated  with  kindred 
enthusiasm  for  miles  and  miles  around. 


CHAPTER   I 
THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS 


Where  the  broad  highway  between  Grenoble  and  Gap 
parts  company  from  the  turbulent  Drac,  and  after  cross- 
ing the  ravine  of  Vaulx  skirts  the  plateau  of  La  Motte 
with  its  magnificent  panorama  of  forests  and  mountain 
peaks,  a  narrow  bridle  path  strikes  off  at  a  sharp  angle 
on  the  left  and  in  wayward  curves  continues  its  length 
through  the  woods  upwards  to  the  hamlet  of  Vaulx  and 
the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame. 

Far  away  to  the  west  the  valley  of  the  Drac  lies  en- 
circled by  the  pine-covered  slopes  of  the  Lans  range,  whilst 
towering  some  seven  thousand  and  more  feet  up  the  snow- 
clad  crest  of  Grande  Moucherolle  glistens  like  a  sea  of 
myriads  of  rose-coloured  diamonds  under  the  kiss  of  the 
morning  sun. 

There  was  more  than  a  hint  of  snow  in  the  sharp,  sting- 
ing air  this  afternoon,  even  down  in  the  valley,  and  now 
the  keen  wind  from  the  northeast  whipped  up  the  faces 
of  the  two  riders  as  they  turned  their  horses  at  a  sharp 
trot  up  the  bridle  path. 

Though  it  was  not  long  since  the  sun  had  first  peeped 
out  above  the  forests  of  Pelvoux,  the  riders  looked  as  if 
they  had  already  a  long  journey  to  their  credit;  their  horses 
were  covered  with  sweat  and  sprinkled  with  lather,  and 
they  themselves  were  plentifully  bespattered  with  mud, 
for  the  road  in  the  valley  was  soft  after  the  thaw.     But 

14 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  15 

despite  probable  fatigue,  both  sat  their  horse  with  that 
ease  and  unconscious  grace  which  marks  the  man  accus- 
tomed to  hard  and  constant  riding,  though — to  the  ex- 
perienced eye — there  would  appear  a  vast  difference  in  the 
style  and  manner  in  which  each  horseman  handled  his 
mount. 

One  of  them  had  the  rigid  precision  of  bearing  which 
denotes  military  training:  he  was  young  and  slight  of 
build,  with  unruly  dark  hair  fluttering  round  the  temples 
from  beneath  his  white  sugar-loaf  hat,  and  escaping  the 
trammels  of  the  neatly-tied  black  silk  bow  at  the  nape  of 
the  neck;  he  held  himself  very  erect  and  rode  his  horse 
on  the  curb,  the  reins  gathered  tightly  in  one  gloved  hand, 
and  that  hand  held  closely  and  almost  immovably  against 
his  chest. 

The  other  sat  more  carelessly — ^though  in  no  way  more 
loosely — in  his  saddle :  he  gave  his  horse  more  freedom, 
with  a  chain-snaffle  and  reins  hanging  lightly  between  his 
fingers.  He  was  obviously  taller  and  probably  older  than 
his  companion,  broader  of  shoulder  and  fairer  of  skin;  you 
might  imagine  him  riding  this  same  powerful  mount  across 
a  sweep  of  open  country,  but  his  friend  you  would  nat- 
urally picture  to  yourself  in  uniform  on  the  parade  ground. 

The  riders  soon  left  the  valley  of  the  Drac  behind  them ; 
on  ahead  the  path  became  very  rocky,  winding  its  way 
beside  a  riotous  little  mountain  stream,  whilst  higher  up 
still,  peeping  through  the  intervening  trees,  the  white- 
washed cottages  of  the  tiny  hamlet  glimmered  with  daz- 
zling clearness  in  the  frosty  atmosphere.  At  a  sharp  bend 
of  the  road,  which  effectually  revealed  the  foremost  of 
these  cottages,  distant  less  than  two  kilometres  now,  the 
younger  of  the  two  men  drew  rein  suddenly,  and  lifting  his 
hat  with  outstretched  arm  high  above  his  head,  he  gave  a 
long  sigh  which  ended  in  a  kind  of  exultant  call  of  joy. 

"There  is  Notre  Dame  de  Vaulx,"  he  cried  at  the  top 


16  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

of  his  voice,  and  hat  still  in  hand  he  pointed  to  the  distant 
hamlet.  "There's  the  spot  where — before  the  sun  darts  its 
midday  rays  upon  us — I  shall  hear  great  and  glorious  and 
authentic  news  of  him  from  a  man  who  has  seen  him  as 
lately  as  forty-eight  hours  ago,  who  has  touched  his  hand, 
heard  the  sound  of  his  voice,  seen  the  look  of  confidence 
and  of  hope  in  his  eyes.  Oh!"  he  went  on  speaking  with 
extraordinary  volubility,  "it  is  all  too  good  to  be  true! 
Since  yesterday  I  have  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dream! — I 
haven't  lived,  I  have  scarcely  breathed,  I  .  .  ." 

The  other  man  broke  in  upon  his  ravings  with  a  good- 
humoured  growl. 

"You  have  certainly  behaved  like  an  escaped  lunatic 
since  early  this  morning,  my  good  de  Marmont,"  he  said 
drily.  "Don't  you  think  that — as  we  shall  have  to  mix 
again  with  our  fellow-men  presently — you  might  try  to 
behave  with  some  semblance  of  reasonableness." 

But  de  Marmont  only  laughed.  He  was  so  excited  that 
his  lips  trembled  all  the  time,  his  hand  shook  and  his  eyes 
glowed  just  as  if  some  inward  fire  was  burning  deep  down 
in  his  soul. 

"No !  I  can't,"  he  retorted,  "I  want  to  shout  and  to  sing 
and  to  cry  'Vive  I'Empereur'  till  those  frowning  mountains 
over  there  echo  with  my  shouts — and  I'll  have  none  of 
your  English  stiffness  and  reserve  and  curbing  of  enthusi- 
asm to-day.  I  am  a  lunatic  if  you  will — an  escaped  lunatic 
— if  to  be  mad  with  joy  be  a  proof  of  insanity.  Clyffurde» 
my  dear  friend,"  he  added  more  soberly,  "I  am  honestly 
sorry  for  you  to-day." 

"Thank  you,"  commented  his  companion  drily.  "May 
I  ask  how  I  have  deserved  this  genuine  sympathy?" 

"Well!  because  you  are  an  Englishman,  and  not  a 
Frenchman,"  said  the  younger  man  earnestly;  "because 
you — as  an  Englishman — ^must  desire  Napoleon's  down- 
fall, his  humiliation,  perhaps  his  death,  instead  of  exult- 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  17 

ing  in  his  glory,  trusting  in  his  star,  believing  in  him, 
following  him.  If  I  were  not  a  Frenchman  on  a  day  like 
this,  if  my  nationality  or  my  patriotism  demanded  that  I 
should  fight  against  Napoleon,  that  I  should  hate  him,  or 
vilify  him,  I  firmly  believe  that  I  would  turn  my  sword 
against  myself,  so  shamed  should  I  feel  in  my  own  eyes." 

It  was  the  Englishman's  turn  to  laugh,  and  he  did  it 
very  heartily.  His  laugh  was  quite  different  to  his  friend's : 
it  had  more  enjoyment  in  it,  more  good  temper,  more  ap- 
preciation of  everything  that  tends  to  gaiety  in  life  and 
more  direct  defiance  of  what  is  gloomy. 

He  too  had  reined  in  his  horse,  presumably  in  order 
to  listen  to  his  friend's  enthusiastic  tirades,  and  as  he  did 
so  there  crept  into  his  merry,  pleasant  eyes  a  quaint  look 
of  half  contemptuous  tolerance  tempered  by  kindly  hu- 
mour. 

"Well,  you  see,  my  good  de  Marmont,"  he  said,  still 
laughing,  "you  happen  to  be  a  Frenchman,  a  visionary 
and  weaver  of  dreams.  Believe  me,"  he  added  more  seri- 
ously, "if  you  had  the  misfortune  to  be  a  prosy,  shop-keep- 
ing Englishman,  you  would  certainly  not  commit  suicide 
just  because  you  could  not  enthuse  over  your  favourite 
hero,  but  you  would  realise  soberly  and  calmly  that  while 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  is  allowed  to  rule  over  France — or 
over  any  country  for  the  matter  of  that — there  will  never 
be  peace  in  the  world  or  prosperity  in  any  land." 

The  younger  man  made  no  reply.  A  shadow  seemed 
to  gather  over  his  face — a  look  almost  of  foreboding,  as 
if  Fate  that  already  lay  in  wait  for  the  great  adventurer, 
had  touched  the  young  enthusiast  with  a  warning  finger. 

Whereupon  Clyffurde  resumed  gaily  once  more : 

"Shall  we,"  he  said,  "go  slowly  on  now  as  far  as  the 
village?  It  is  not  yet  ten  o'clock.  Emery  cannot  pos- 
sibly be  here  before  noon." 

He  put  his  horse  to  a  walk,  dc  Marmont  keeping  close 


18  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

behind  him,  and  in  silence  the  two  men  rode  up  the  incline 
toward  Notre  Dame  de  Vaulx.  On  ahead  the  pines  and 
beech  and  birch  became  more  sparse,  disclosing  the  great 
patches  of  moss-covered  rock  upon  the  slopes  of  Pelvoux. 
On  Taillefer  the  eternal  snows  appeared  wonderfully  near 
in  the  brilliance  of  this  early  spring  atmosphere,  and  here 
and  there  on  the  roadside  bunches  of  wild  crocus  and  of 
snowdrops  were  already  visible  rearing  their  delicate  corol- 
las up  against  a  background  of  moss. 

The  tiny  village  still  far  away  lay  in  the  peaceful  hush 
of  a  Sunday  morning,  only  from  the  little  chapel  which 
holds  the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame  came  the  sweet,  insistent 
soimd  of  the  bell  calling  the  dwellers  of  these  mountain 
fastnesses  to  prayer. 

The  northeasterly  wind  was  still  keen,  but  the  sun 
was  gaining  power  as  it  rose  well  above  Pelvoux,  and 
the  sky  over  the  dark  forests  and  snow-crowned  heights 
was  of  a  glorious  and  vivid  blue. 

n 

The  words  "Auberge  du  Grand  Dauphin"  looked  re- 
markably inviting,  written  in  bold,  shiny  black  characters 
on  the  white-washed  wall  of  one  of  the  foremost  houses 
in  the  village.  The  riders  drew  rein  once  more,  this  time 
in  front  of  the  little  inn,  and  as  a  young  ostler  in  blue 
blouse  and  sabots  came  hurriedly  and  officiously  forward 
whilst  mine  host  in  the  same  attire  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, the  two  men  dismounted,  unstrapped  their  mantles 
from  their  saddle-bows  and  loudly  called  for  mulled  wine. 

Mine  host,  typical  of  his  calling  and  of  his  race,  rubicund 
of  cheek,  portly  of  figure  and  genial  in  manner,  was  over- 
anxious to  please  his  guests.  It  was  not  often  that  gen- 
tlemen of  such  distinguished  appearance  called  at  the  "Au- 
berge du  Grand  Dauphin,"  seeing  that  Notre  Dame  de 
Vaulx  lies  perdu  on  the  outskirts  of  the  forests  of  Pelvoux, 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  .  19 

that  the  bridle  path  having  reached  the  village  leads  no- 
where save  into  the  mountains  and  that  La  Motte  is  close 
by  with  its  medicinal  springs  and  its  fine  hostels. 

But  these  two  highly-distinguished  gentlemen  evidently 
meant  to  make  a  stay  of  it.  They  even  spoke  of  a  friend 
who  would  come  and  join  them  later,  when  they  would 
expect  a  substantial  dejeuner  to  be  served  with  the  best 
wine  mine  host  could  put  before  them.  Annette — mine 
host's  dark-eyed  daughter — was  all  a-flutter  at  sight  of 
these  gallant  strangers,  one  of  them  with  such  fiery  eyes 
and  vivacious  ways,  and  the  other  so  tall  and  so  dignified, 
with  fair  skin  well-bronzed  by  the  sun  and  large  firm  mouth 
that  had  such  a  pleasant  smile  on  it;  her  eyes  sparkled  at 
sight  of  them  both  and  her  glib  tongue  rattled  away  at 
truly  astonishing  speed. 

Would  a  well-baked  omelette  and  a  bit  of  fricandeau 
suit  the  gentlemen? — Admirably?  Ah,  well  then,  that 
could  easily  be  done ! — and  now  ?  in  the  meanwhile  ? — Only 
good  mulled  wine?  That  would  present  no  difficulty  either. 
Five  minutes  for  it  to  get  really  hot,  as  Annette  had  made 
some  the  previous  day  for  her  father  who  had  been  on  a 
tiring  errand  up  to  La  Mure  and  had  come  home  cold  and 
starved — and  it  was  specially  good — all  the  better  for  hav- 
ing been  hotted  up  once  or  twice  and  the  cloves  and  nutmeg 
having  soaked  in  for  nearly  four  and  twenty  hours. 

Where  would  the  gentlemen  have  it — Outside  in  the  sun- 
shine? .  .  .  Well!  it  was  very  cold,  and  the  wind  biting 
.  .  .  but  the  gentlemen  had  mantles,  and  she,  Annette, 
would  see  that  the  wine  was  piping  hot.  .  .  .  Five  minutes 
and  everything  would  be  ready.  .  .  . 

What?  ...  the  tall,  fair-skinned  gentleman  wanted  to 
wash?  .  .  .  what  a  funny  idea!  .  .  .  hadn't  he  washed 
this  morning  when  he  got  up?  .  .  .  He  had?  Well,  then, 
why  should  he  want  to  wash  again?  .  .  .  She,  Annette, 
managed  to  keep  herself  quite  clean  all  day,  and  didn't 


«0  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

need  to  wash  more  than  once  a  day.  .  .  .  But  there! 
strangers  had  funny  ways  with  them  .  .  .  she  had  guessed 
at  once  that  Monsieur  was  a  stranger,  he  had  such  a  fair 
skin  and  light  brown  hair.  Well!  so  long  as  Monsieur 
wasn't  English — for  the  English,  she  detested! 

Why  did  she  detest  the  English?  .  .  .  Because  they 
made  war  against  France.  Well!  against  the  Emperor 
anyhow,  and  she,  Annette,  firmly  believed  that  if  the  Eng- 
lish could  get  hold  of  the  Emperor  they  would  kill  him 
— oh,  yes!  they  would  put  him  on  an  island  peopled  by 
cannibals  and  let  him  be  eaten,  bones,  marrow  and  all. 

And  Annette's  dark  eyes  grew  very  round  and  very 
big  as  she  gave  forth  her  opinion  upon  the  barbarous 
hatred  of  the  English  for  "I'Empereur!"  She  prattled  on 
very  gaily  and  very  volubly,  while  she  dragged  a  couple  of 
chairs  out  into  the  open,  and  placed  them  well  in  the  lee 
of  the  wind  and  brought  a  couple  of  pewter  mugs  which 
she  set  on  the  table. 

She  was  very  much  interested  In  the  tall  gentleman  who 
had  availed  himself  of  her  suggestion  to  use  the  pump  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  since  he  was  so  bent  on  washing 
himself ;  and  she  asked  many  questions  about  him  from  his 
friend. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  steaming  wine  was  on  the  table 
in  a  huge  china  bowl  and  the  Englishman  was  ladling  it 
out  with  a  long-handled  spoon  and  filling  the  two  mugs 
with  the  deliciously  scented  cordial.  Annette  had  disap- 
peared into  the  house  in  response  to  a  peremptory  call  from 
her  father.  The  chapel  bell  had  ceased  to  ring  long  ago, 
and  she  would  miss  hearing  Mass  altogether  to-day;  and 
M.  le  cure,  who  came  on  alternate  Sundays  all  the  way 
from  La  Motte  to  celebrate  divine  service,  would  be  very 
angry  indeed  with  her. 

Well !  that  couldn't  be  helped !  Annette  would  have  loved 
to  go  to  Mass,  but  the  two  distinguished  gentlemen  ex- 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  «! 

pected  their  friend  to  arrive  at  noon,  and  the  dejeuner 
to  be  ready  quite  by  then ;  so  she  comforted  her  conscience 
with  a  few  prayers  said  on  her  knees  before  the  picture 
of  the  Holy  Virgin  which  hung  above  her  bed,  after  which 
she  went  back  to  her  housewifely  duty  with  a  light  heart; 
but  not  before  she  had  decided  an  important  point  in  her 
mind — namely,  which  of  those  two  handsome  gentlemen 
she  liked  the  best :  the  dark  one  with  the  fiery  eyes  that  ex- 
pressed such  bold  admiration  of  her  young  charms,  or  the 
tall  one  with  the  earnest  grey  eyes  who  looked  as  if  he 
could  pick  her  up  like  a  feather  and  carry  her  running  all 
the  way  to  the  summit  of  Taillefer. 

Annette  had  indeed  made  up  her  mind  that  the  giant  with 
the  soft  brown  hair  and  winning  smile  was,  on  the  whole, 
the  more  attractive  of  the  two. 

in 

The  two  friends,  with  mantles  wrapped  closely  round 
them,  sat  outside  the  "Grand  Dauphin"  all  unconscious  of 
the  problem  which  had  been  disturbing  Annette's  bu^y  little 
brain. 

The  steaming  wine  had  put  plenty  of  warmth  into  their 
bones,  and  though  both  had  been  silent  while  they  sipped 
their  first  mug-full,  it  was  obvious  that  each  was  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts. 

Then  suddenly  the  young  Frenchman  put  his  mug  down 
and  leaned  with  both  elbows  upon  the  rough  deal  table, 
because  he  wanted  to  talk  confidentially  with  his  friend, 
and  there  was  never  any  knowing  what  prying  ears  might 
be  about. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  even  as  a  deep  frown  told  of  puz- 
zling thoughts  within  the  mind,  "I  suppose  that  when  Eng- 
land hears  the  news,  she  will  up  and  at  him  again,  at- 
tacking him,  snarling  at  him  even  before  he  has  had  time 
to  settle  down  upon  his  reconquered  throne." 


22  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"That  throne  is  not  reconquered  yet,  my  friend,"  re- 
torted the  Englishman  drily,  "nor  has  the  news  of  this  mad 
adventure  reached  England  so  far,  but  .  .  ." 

"But  when  it  does,"  broke  in  de  Marmont  sombrely, 
"your  Castlereagh  will  rave  and  your  Wellington  will 
gather  up  his  armies  to  try  and  crush  the  hero  whom 
France  loves  and  acclaims." 

"Will  France  acclaim  the  hero,  there's  the  question?" 

"The  army  will — the  people  will " 

Clyffurde  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  army,  yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "but  the  people  .  .  . 
what  people? — ^the  peasantry  of  Provence  and  the  Dau- 
phine,  perhaps — what  about  the  town  folk? — your  mayors 
and  prefets? — your  tradespeople?  your  shopkeepers  who 
have  been  ruined  by  the  wars  which  your  hero  has  made 
to  further  his  own  ambition.  .  .  ." 

"Don't  say  that,  Qyffurde,"  once  more  broke  in  de  Mar- 
mont, and  this  time  more  vehemently  than  before.  "When 
you  speak  like  that  I  could  almost  forget  our  friendship." 

"Whether  I  say  it  or  not,  my  good  de  Marmont,"  re- 
joined Qyffurde  with  his  good-humoured  smile,  "you  will 
anyhow — ^within  the  next  few  months — days,  perhaps — 
bury  our  friendship  beneath  the  ashes  of  your  patriotism. 
No  one,  believe  me,"  he  added  more  earnestly,  "has  a 
greater  admiration  for  the  genius  of  Napoleon  than  I  have ; 
his  love  of  France  is  sublime,  his  desire  for  her  glory 
superb.  But  underlying  his  love  of  country,  there  is  the 
love  of  self,  the  mad  desire  to  rule,  to  conquer,  to  hu- 
miliate. It  led  him  to  Moscow  and  thence  to  Elba,  it  has 
brought  him  back  to  France.  It  will  lead  him  once  again  to 
the  Capitol,  no  doubt,  but  as  surely  too  it  will  lead  him 
on  to  the  Tarpeian  Rock  whence  he  will  be  hurled  down 
this  time,  not  only  bruised,  but  shattered,  a  fallen  hero 
— and  you  will — a  broken  idol,  for  posterity  to  deal  with 
in  after  time  as  it  lists." 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  23 

"And  England  would  like  to  be  the  one  to  give  the 
hero  the  final  push,"  said  de  Marmont,  not  without  a 
sneer. 

"The  people  of  England,  my  friend,  hate  and  fear  Bona- 
parte as  they  have  never  hated  and  feared  any  one  before 
in  the  whole  course  of  their  history — ^and  tell  me,  have  we 
not  cause  enough  to  hate  him?  For  fifteen  years  has  he 
not  tried  to  ruin  us,  to  bring  us  to  our  knees?  tried  to 
throttle  our  commerce?  break  our  might  upon  the  sea?  He 
wanted  to  make  a  slave  of  Britain,  and  Britain  proved 
unconquerable.  Believe  me,  we  hate  your  hero  less  than 
he  hates  us." 

He  had  spoken  with  a  good  deal  of  earnestness,  but  now 
he  added  more  lightly,  as  if  in  answer  to  de  Marmont's 
glowering  look : 

"At  the  same  time,"  he  said,  "I  doubt  if  there  is  a  single 
English  gentleman  living  at  the  present  moment — let  alone 
the  army — who  would  refuse  ungrudging  admiration  to 
Napoleon  himself  and  to  his  genius.  But  as  a  nation  Eng- 
land has  her  interests  to  safeguard.  She  has  suffered 
enough — ^and  through  him — in  her  commerce  and  her  pros- 
perity in  the  past  twenty  years — she  must  have  peace  now 
at  any  cost." 

"Ah!  I  know,"  sighed  the  other,  "a  nation  of  shop- 
keepers. .  .  ." 

"Yes.  We  are  that,  I  suppose.  We  are  shopkeepers 
.  .  .  most  of  us.  .  .  ." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  use  the  word  in  any  derogatory 
sense,"  protested  Victor  de  Marmont  with  the  ready  po- 
liteness peculiar  to  his  race.    "Why,  even  you  .  .  ." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  say  'even  you,'  "  broke  in 
Clyffurde  quietly.  "I  am  a  shopkeeper — ^nothing  more. 
...  I  buy  goods  and  sell  them  again.  ...  I  buy  the 
gloves  which  our  friend  M.  Dumoulin  manufactures  at 
Grenoble  and  sell  them  to  any  London  draper  who  chooses 


24  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

to  buy  them  ...  a  very  mean  and  ungentlemanly  occupa- 
tion, is  it  not?" 

He  spoke  French  with  perfect  fluency,  and  only  with 
the  merest  suspicion  of  a  drawl  in  the  intonation  of  the 
vowels,  which  suggested  rather  than  proclaimed  his  na- 
tionality; and  just  now  there  was  not  the  slightest  tone 
of  bitterness  apparent  in  his  deep-toned  and  mellow  voice. 
Once  more  his  friend  would  have  protested,  but  he  put 
up  a  restraining  hand. 

"Oh !"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "I  don't  imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment that  you  have  the  same  prejudices  as  our  mutual 
friend  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,  who  must  have  made 
a  very  violent  sacrifice  to  his  feelings  when  he  admitted 
me  as  a  guest  to  his  own  table.  I  am  sure  he  must  often 
think  that  the  servants'  hall  is  the  proper  place  for  me." 

"The  Comte  de  Cambray,"  retorted  de  Marmont  with 
a  sneer,  "is  full  up  to  his  eyes  with  the  prejudices  and 
arrogance  of  his  caste.  It  is  men  of  his  type — and  not 
Marat  or  Robespierre — ^who  made  the  revolution,  who 
goaded  the  people  of  France  into  becoming  something 
worse  than  man-devouring  beasts.  And,  mind  you,  twenty 
years  of  exile  did  not  sober  them,  nor  did  contact  with 
democratic  thought  in  England  and  America  teach  them 
the  most  elementary  lessons  of  commonsense.  If  the  Em- 
peror had  not  come  back  to-day,  we  should  be  once  more 
working  up  for  revolution — ^more  terrible  this  time,  more 
bloody  and  vengeful,  if  possible,  than  the  last." 

Then  as  Clyffurde  made  no  comment  on  this  peroration, 
the  younger  man  resumed  more  lightly : 

"And — ^knowing  the  Comte  de  Cambray 's  prejudices  as 
I  do,  imagine  my  surprise — after  I  had  met  you  in  his 
house  as  an  honoured  guest  and  on  what  appeared  to  be 
intimate  terms  of  friendship — to  learn  that  you  ...  in 
fact  .  .  ." 

"That  I  was  nothing  more  than  a  shopkeeper,"  broke 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  25 

in  Qyffurde  with  a  short  laugh,  "nothing  better  than  our 
mutual  friend  M.  Dumoulin,  glovemaker,  of  Grenoble — a 
highly  worthy  man  whom  M.  le  G^mte  de  Cambray  esteems 
somewhat  lower  than  his  butler.  It  certainly  must  have 
surprised  you  very  much." 

"Well,  you  know,  old  de  Cambray  has  a  horror  of  any- 
thing that  pertains  to  trade,  and  an  avowed  contempt  for 
everything  that  he  calls  'bourgeois/  " 

"There's  no  doubt  about  that,"  assented  Clyffurde 
fervently. 

"Perhaps  he  does  not  know  of  your  connection 
with  .  .  ." 

"Gloves?" 

"With  business  people  in  Grenoble  generally." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  does!"  replied  the  Englishman  quietly. 

"Well,  then?"  queried  de  Marmont. 

Then  as  his  friend  sat  there  silent  with  that  quiet,  good- 
humoured  smile  lingering  round  his  lips,  he  added  apolo- 
getically : 

"Perhaps  I  am  indiscreet  .  .  .  but  I  never  could  under- 
stand it  .  .  .  and  you  English  are  so  reserved  .  .  ." 

"That  I  never  told  you  how  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray, 
Commander  of  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  Grand  Cross 
of  the  Order  du  Lys,  Hereditary  Grand  Chamberlain  of 
France,  etc.,  etc.,  came  to  sit  at  the  same  table  as  a  vendor 
and  buyer  of  gloves,"  said  Clyffurde  gaily.  "There's  no 
secret  about  it.  I  owe  the  Comte's  exalted  condescension 
to  certain  letters  of  recommendation  which  he  could  not 
very  well  disregard." 

"Oh!  as  to  that  .  .  ."  quoth  de  Marmont  with  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders,  "people  like  the  de  Cambrays  have  their 
own  codes  of  courtesy  and  of  friendship." 

"In  this  case,  my  good  de  Marmont,  it  was  the  code  of 
ordinary  gratitude  that  imposed  its  dictum  even  upon  the 
autocratic  and  aristocratic  Comte  de  Cambray." 


26  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Gratitude?"  sneered  de  Marmont,  "in  a  de  Cambray?" 

"M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,"  said  Clyfl&urde  with  slow 
emphasis,  "his  mother,  his  sister,  his  brother-in-law  and 
two  of  their  faithful  servants,  were  rescued  from  the  very 
foot  of  the  guillotine  by  a  band  of  heroes — known  in  those 
days  as  the  League  of  the  Scarlet  Pimpernel." 

"I  knew  that!"  said  de  Marmont  quietly. 

"Then  perhaps  you  also  knew  that  their  leader  was 
Sir  Percy  Blakeney — a  prince  among  gallant  English  gen- 
tlemen and  my  dead  father's  friend.  When  my  business 
affairs  sent  me  to  Grenoble,  Sir  Percy  warmly  recom- 
mended me  to  the  man  whose  life  he  had  saved.  What 
could  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  do  but  receive  me  as  a 
friend?  You  see,  my  credentials  were  exceptional  and 
unimpeachable." 

"Of  course,"  assented  de  Marmont,  "now  I  understand. 
But  you  will  admit  that  I  have  had  grounds  for  surprise. 
You — who  were  the  friend  of  Dumoulin,  a  tradesman,  and 
avowed  Bonapartist — ^two  unpardonable  crimes  in  the  eyes 
of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,"  he  added  with  a  return  to  his 
former  bitterness,  "you  to  be  seated  at  his  table  and  to 
shake  him  by  the  hand.  Why,  man!  if  he  knew  that  I  have 
remained  faithful  to  the  Emperor  .  .  ." 

He  paused  abruptly,  and  his  somewhat  full,  sensitive 
lips  were  pressed  tightly  together  as  if  to  suppress  an  in- 
sistent outburst  of  passion. 

But  Clyffurde  frowned,  and  when  he  turned  away  from 
de  Marmont  it  was  in  order  to  hide  a  harsh  look  of  con- 
tempt. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "you  have  never  led  the  Comte  to 
suppose  that  you  are  a  royalist!" 

"I  have  never  led  him  to  suppose  anything.  But  he 
has  taken  my  political  convictions  for  granted,"  rejoined 
de  Marmont. 

Then  suddenly  a  look   of  bitter   resentment  darkened 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  27 

his  face,  making  it  appear  hard  and  lined  and  considerably 
older. 

"My  uncle,  Marshal  de  Marmont,  Due  de  Raguse,  was 
an  abominable  traitor,"  he  went  on  with  ill-repressed  ve- 
hemence. "He  betrayed  his  Emperor,  his  benefactor  and 
his  friend.  It  was  the  vilest  treachery  that  has  ever  dis- 
graced an  honourable  name.  Paris  could  have  held  out 
easily  for  another  four  and  twenty  hours,  and  by  that  time 
the  Emperor  would  have  been  back.  But  de  Marmont 
gave  her  over  wilfully,  scurvily  to  the  allies.  But  for  his 
abominable  act  of  cowardice  the  Emperor  never  would  have 
had  to  endure  the  shame  of  his  temporary  exile  at  Elba, 
and  Louis  de  Bourbon  would  never  have  had  the  chance 
of  wallowing  for  twelve  months  upon  the  throne  of  France. 
But  that  which  is  a  source  of  irreparable  shame  to  me  is  a 
virtue  in  the  eyes  of  all  these  royalists.  De  Marmont's 
treachery  against  the  Emperor  has  placed  all  his  kindred 
in  the  forefront  of  those  who  now  lick  the  boots  of  that 
infamous  Bourbon  dynasty,  and  it  did  not  suit  the  plans 
of  the  Bonapartist  party  that  we — in  the  provinces — should 
proclaim  our  faith  too  openly  until  such  time  as  the  Em- 
peror returned." 

"And  if  the  Comte  de  Cambray  had  known  that  you 
are  just  an  ardent  Bonapartist?  .  .  ."  suggested  Clyffurde 
calmly. 

"He  would  long  before  now  have  had  me  kicked  out 
by  his  lacqueys,"  broke  in  de  Marmont  with  ever-increas- 
ing bitterness  as  he  brought  his  clenched  fist  crashing  down 
upon  the  table,  while  his  dark  eyes  glowed  with  a  fierce 
and  passionate  resentment.  "For  men  like  de  Cambray 
there  is  only  one  caste — the  noblesse,  one  religion — the 
Catholic,  one  creed — adherence  to  the  Bourbons.  All  else 
is  scum,  trash,  beneath  contempt,  hardly  human!  Oh! 
if  you  knew  how  I  loathe  these  people!"  he  continued, 
speaking  volubly  and  in  a  voice  shaking  with  suppressed 


£8  THE  BRONZE  EAGHLE 

excitement.  "They  have  learnt  nothing,  these  aristocrats, 
nothing,  I  tell  you!  the  terrible  reprisals  of  the  revolu- 
tion which  culminated  in  that  appalling  Reign  of  Terror 
have  taught  them  absolutely  nothing!  They  have  not 
learnt  the  great  lesson  of  the  revolution,  that  the  people 
will  no  longer  endure  their  arrogance  and  their  preten- 
sions, that  the  old  regime  is  dead — dead!  the  regime  of 
oppression  and  pride  and  intolerance!  They  have  learnt 
nothing!"  he  reiterated  with  ever-growing  excitement, 
"nothing!  'humanity  begins  with  the  noblesse'  is  still  their 
watchword  to-day  as  it  was  before  the  irate  people  sent 
hundreds  of  them  to  perish  miserably  on  the  guillotine — 
the  rest  of  mankind,  to  them,  is  only  cattle  made  to  toil 
for  the  well-being  of  their  class.  Oh!  I  loathe  them,  I 
tell  you!     I  loathe  them  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul!" 

"And  yet  you  and  your  kind  are  rapidly  becoming  at 
one  with  them,"  said  Clyffurde,  his  quiet  voice  in  strange 
contrast  to  the  other  man's  violent  agitation. 

"No,  we  are  not,"  protested  de  Marmont  emphatically. 
"The  men  whom  Napoleon  created  marshals  and  peers  of 
France  have  been  openly  snubbed  at  the  Court  of  Louis 
XVIII.  Ney,  who  is  prince  of  Moskowa  and  next  to 
Napoleon  himself  the  greatest  soldier  of  France,  has  seen 
his  wife  treated  little  better  than  a  chambermaid  by  the 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme  and  the  ladies  of  the  old  noblesse. 
My  uncle  is  marshal  of  France,  and  Due  de  Raguse  and 
I  am  the  heir  to  his  millions,  but  the  Comte  de  Cambray 
will  always  consider  it  a  mesalliance  for  his  daughter  to 
marry  me." 

The  note  of  bitter  resentment,  of  wounded  pride  and 
smouldering  hatred  became  more  and  more  marked  while 
he  spoke:  his  voice  now  sounded  hoarse  and  his  throat 
seemed  dry.  Presently  he  raised  his  mug  to  his  lips  and 
drank  eagerly,  but  his  hand  was  shaking  visibly  as  he 
did  this,  and  some  of  the  wine  was  spilled  on  the  table. 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  «9 

There  was  silence  for  a  while  outside  the  little  inn,  silence 
which  seemed  full  of  portent,  for  through  the  pure  moun- 
tain air  there  was  wafted  the  hot  breath  of  men's  passions 
— fierce,  dominating,  challenging.  Love,  hatred,  preju- 
dices and  contempt — all  were  portrayed  on  de  Marmont's 
mobile  face :  they  glowed  in  his  dark  eyes  and  breathed 
through  his  quivering  nostrils.  Now  he  rested  his  elbow  on 
the  table  and  his  chin  in  his  hand,  his  nervy  fingers  played 
a  tattoo  against  his  teeth,  clenched  together  like  those  of 
some  young  feline  creature  which  sees  its  prey  coming 
along  and  is  snarling  at  the  sight. 

Clyffurde,  with  those  deejHset,  earnest  grey  eyes  of  his, 
was  silently  watching  his  friend.  His  hand  did  not  shake, 
nor  did  the  breath  come  any  quicker  from  his  broad  chest. 
Yet  deep  down  behind  the  wide  brow,  behind  those  same 
overshadowed  eyes,  a  keen  observer  would  of  a  surety 
have  detected  the  sig^s  of  a  latent  volcano  of  passions,  all 
the  more  strong  and  virile  as  they  were  kept  in  perfect 
control.  It  was  he  who  presently  broke  the  silence,  and 
his  voice  was  quite  steady  when  he  spoke,  though  perhaps 
a  trifle  more  toneless,  more  dead,  than  usual. 

"And,"  he  said,  "what  of  Mile.  Crystal  in  all  this?" 

"Crystal?"  queried  the  other  curtly,  "what  about  her?" 

"She  is  an  ardent  royalist,  more  strong  in  her  convic- 
tions and  her  enthusiasms  than  women  usually  are." 

"And  what  of  that?"  rejoined  de  Marmont  fiercely.  "I 
love  Crystal." 

"But  when  she  learns  that  you  .  .  ." 

"She  shall  not  learn  it,"  rejoined  the  other  cynically. 
"We  sign  our  marriage  contract  to-night:  the  wedding  is 
fixed  for  Tuesday.     Until  then  I  can  hold  my  peace." 

An  exclamation  of  hot  protest  almost  escaped  the  Eng- 
lishman's lips:  his  hand  which  rested  on  the  table  be- 
came so  tightly  clenched  that  the  hard  knuckles  looked  as 
if  they  would  burst  through  their  fetter?  of  sinew  and 


30  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

skin,  and  he  made  no  pretence  at  concealing  the  look  of 
burning  indignation  which  flashed  from  his  eyes. 

"But  man !"  he  exclaimed,  "a  deception  such  as  you  pro- 
pose is  cruel  and  monstrous.  ...  In  view,  too,  of  what 
has  occurred  in  the  past  few  days  ...  in  view  of  what 
may  happen  if  the  news  which  we  have  heard  is  true  .  .  ." 

"In  view  of  all  that,  my  friend,"  retorted  de  Marmont 
firmly,  "the  old  regime  has  had  its  nine  days  of  wonder 
and  of  splendour.  The  Emperor  has  come  back!  we, 
who  believe  in  him,  who  have  remained  true  to  him  in  his 
humiliation  and  in  his  misfortunes  may  once  more  raise 
our  heads  and  loudly  proclaim  our  loyalty.  The  return  of 
the  Emperor  will  once  more  put  his  dukes  and  his  marshals 
in  their  rightful  place  on  a  level  with  the  highest  nobility 
of  France.  The  Comte  de  Cambray  will  realise  that  all 
his  hopes  of  regaining  his  fortune  through  the  favours  of 
the  Bourbons  have  by  force  of  circumstances  come  to 
naught.  Like  most  of  the  old  noblesse  who  emigrated  he 
is  without  a  sou.  He  may  choose  to  look  on  me  with  con- 
tempt, but  he  will  no  longer  desire  to  kick  me  out  of  his 
house,  for  he  will  be  glad  enough  to  see  the  Cambray 
'scutcheon  regilt  with  de  Marmont  gold." 

"But  Mademoiselle  Crysta.1?"  insisted  Clyffurde,  almost 
appealingly,  for  his  whole  soul  had  revolted  at  the  cyni- 
cism of  the  other  man. 

"Crystal  has  listened  to  that  ape,  St.  Genis,"  replied 
de  Marmont  drily,  "one  of  her  own  caste  ...  a  marquis 
with  sixteen  quarterings  to  his  family  escutcheon  and  not 
a  sou  in  his  pockets.  She  is  very  young,  and  very  inex- 
perienced. She  has  seen  nothing  of  the  world  as  yet — 
nothing.  She  was  born  and  brought  up  in  exile — in  Eng- 
land, in  the  midst  of  that  narrow  society  formed  by  im- 
pecunious emigres.  ..." 

"And  shopkeeping  Englishmen,"  murmured  Clyffurde 
under  his  breath. 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  9t 

"She  could  never  have  married  St.  Genis/'  reiterated 
Victor  de  Marmont  with  dehberate  emphasis.  "The  man 
hasn't  a  sou.  Even  Crystal  realised  from  the  first  that 
nothing  ever  could  have  come  of  that  boy  and  girl  dally- 
ing.   The  Comte  never  would  have  consented.  .  .  ." 

'Terhaps  not.  But  she — Mademoiselle  Crystal — would 
she  ever  have  consented  to  marry  you,  if  she  had  known 
what  your  convictions  are?" 

"Crystal  is  only  a  child,"  said  de  Marmont  with  a  light 
shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "She  will  learn  to  love  me  pres- 
ently when  St.  Genis  has  disappeared  out  of  her  little 
world,  and  she  will  accept  my  convictions  as  she  has  ac- 
cepted me,  submissive  to  my  will  as  she  was  to  that  of 
her  father." 

Once  more  a  hot  protest  of  indignation  rose  to  Clyf- 
furde's  lips,  but  this  too  he  smothered  resolutely.  What 
was  the  use  of  protesting?  Could  he  hope  to  change  with 
a  few  arguments  the  whole  cynical  nature  of  a  man  ?  And 
what  right  had  he  even  to  interfere?  The  Comte  de  Cam- 
bray  and  Mademoiselle  Crystal  were  nothing  to  him:  in 
their  minds  they  would  never  look  upon  him  even  as  an 
equal — let  alone  as  a  friend.  So  the  bitter  words  died  upon 
his  lips. 

"And  you  have  been  content  to  win  a  wife  on  such 
terms !"  was  all  that  he  said. 

"I  have  had  to  be  content,"  was  de  Marmont's  retort. 
"Crystal  is  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  cared  for.  She 
will  love  me  in  time,  I  doubt  not,  and  her  sense  of  duty 
will  make  her  forget  St.  Genis  quickly  enough." 

Then  as  Oyffurde  made  no  further  comment  silence 
fell  once  more  between  the  two  men.  Perhaps  even  de 
Marmont  felt  that  somehow,  during  the  past  few  moments, 
the  slender  bond  of  friendship  which  similarity  of  tastes 
and  a  certain  similarity  of  political  ideals  had  forged  be- 
tween him  and  the  stranger  had  been  strained  to  snap- 


S2  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

ping  point,  and  this  for  a  reason  which  he  could  not  very 
well  understand.  He  drank  another  draught  of  wine  and 
gave  a  quick  sigh  of  satisfaction  with  the  world  in  general, 
and  also  with  himself,  for  he  did  not  feel  that  he  had  done 
or  said  anything  which  could  offend  the  keenest  suscep- 
tibilities of  his  friend. 

He  looked  with  a  sudden  sense  of  astonishment  at  Clyf- 
furde,  as  if  he  were  only  seeing  him  now  for  the  first  time. 
His  keen  dark  eyes  took  in  with  a  rapid  glance  the  Eng- 
lishman's powerful  personality,  the  square  shoulders,  the 
head  well  erect,  the  strong  Anglo-Saxon  chin  firmly  set,  the 
slender  hands  always  in  repose.  In  the  whole  attitude  of 
the  man  there  was  an  air  of  will-power  which  had  never 
struck  de  Marmont  quite  so  forcibly  as  it  did  now,  and 
a  virility  which  looked  as  ready  to  challenge  Fate  as  it 
was  able  to  conquer  her  if  she  proved  adverse. 

And  just  now  there  was  a  curious  look  in  those  deep- 
set  eyes — a  look  of  contempt  or  of  pity — dc  Marmont  was 
not  sure  which,  but  somehow  the  look  worried  him  and 
he  would  have  given  much  to  read  the  thoughts  which 
were  hidden  behind  the  high,  square  brow. 

However,  he  asked  no  questions,  and  thus  the  silence 
remained  unbroken  for  some  time  save  for  the  soughing 
of  the  northeast  wind  as  it  whistled  through  the  pines, 
whilst  from  the  tiny  chapel  which  held  the  shrine  of  Notre 
Dame  dc  Vaulx  came  the  sound  of  a  soft-toned  bell,  ring- 
ing the  midday  Angelus. 

Just  then  round  that  same  curve  in  the  road,  where  the 
two  riders  had  paused  an  hour  ago  in  sight  of  the  little 
hamlet,  a  man  on  horseback  appeared,  riding  at  a  brisk 
trot  up  the  rugged,  stony  path. 

Victor  de  Marmont  woke  from  his  reverie : 

"There's  Emery,"  he  cried. 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  then  he  picked  up  his  hat  from 
the  table  where  he  had  laid  it  down,  tossed  it  up  into  the 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  8S 

air  as  high  as  it  would  go,  and  shouted  with  all  his  might : 
"Vive  I'Empereur!" 

IV 

The  man  who  now  drew  rein  with  abrupt  clumsiness 
in  front  of  the  auberge  looked  hot,  tired  and  travel-stained. 
His  face  was  covered  with  sweat  and  his  horse  with  lather, 
the  lapel  of  his  coat  was  torn,  his  breeches  and  boots  were 
covered  with  half -frozen  mud. 

But  having  brought  his  horse  to  a  halt,  he  swung  him- 
self out  of  the  saddle  with  the  brisk  air  of  a  boy  who  has 
enjoyed  his  first  ride  across  country.  Surgeon-Captain 
Emery  was  a  man  well  over  forty,  but  to-day  his  eyes 
glowed  with  that  concentrated  fire  which  burns  in  the  heart 
at  twenty,  and  he  shook  de  Marmont  by  the  hand  with  a 
vigour  which  made  the  younger  man  wince  with  the  pain 
of  that  iron  grip. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Clyfifurde,  an  English  gentleman,"  said 
Victor  de  Marmont  hastily  in  response  to  a  quick  look  of 
suspicious  enquiry  which  flashed  out  from  under  Emery's 
bushy  eyebrows.  "You  can  talk  quite  freely,  Emery;  and 
for  God's  sake  tell  us  your  news !" 

But  Emery  could  hardly  speak.  He  had  been  riding  hard 
for  the  past  three  hours,  his  throat  was  parched,  and 
through  it  his  voice  came  up  hoarse  and  raucous:  never- 
theless he  at  once  began  talking  in  short,  jerky  sentences. 

"He  landed  on  Wednesday,"  he  said.  "I  parted  from 
him  on  Friday  ...  at  Castellane  .  .  .  you  had  my  mes- 
sage?" 

"This  morning  early — we  came  at  once." 

"I  thought  we  could  talk  better  here — first — but  I  was 
spent  last  night — I  had  to  sleep  at  Corps  ...  so  I  sent  to 
you.  .  .  .  But  now,  in  Heaven's  name,  give  me  something 
to  drink.  .  .  ." 

While  he  drank  eagerly  and  greedily  of  the  cold  spiced 


34  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

wine  which  Clyffurde  had  served  out  to  him,  he  still  scru- 
tinised the  Englishman  closely  from  under  his  frowning 
^nd  bushy  eyebrows. 

Clyffurde's  winning  glance,  however,  seemed  to  have 
conquered  his  mistrust,  for  presently,  after  he  had  put 
his  mug  down  again,  he  stretched  out  a  cordial  hand  to 
him. 

"Now  that  our  Emperor  is  back  with  us,"  he  said  as  if 
in  apology  for  his  former  suspicions,  "we,  his  friends,  are 
bound  to  look  askance  at  every  Englishman  we  meet." 

"Of  course  you  are,"  said  Clyffurde  with  his  habitual 
good-humoured  smile  as  he  grasped  Surgeon-Captain 
Emery's  extended  hand. 

"It  is  the  hand  of  a  friend  I  am  grasping?"  insisted 
Emery. 

"Of  a  personal  friend,  if  you  will  call  him  so,"  replied 
Qyffurde.  "Politically,  I  hardly  count,  you  see.  I  am  just 
a  looker-on  at  the  game." 

The  surgeon-captain's  keen  eyes  under  their  bushy  brows 
shot  a  rapid  glance  at  the  tall,  well-knit  figure  of  the 
Englishman. 

"You  are  not  a  fighting  man?"  he  queried,  much  amazed. 

"No,"  replied  Clyffurde  drily.  "I  am  only  a  trades- 
man." 

**Your  news,  Emery,  your  news!"  here  broke  in  Victor 
de  Marmont,  who  during  the  brief  colloquy  between  his 
two  friends  had  been  hardly  able  to  keep  his  excitement  in 
check. 

Emery  turned  away  from  the  other  man  in  silence. 
Qearly  there  was  something  about  that  fine,  noble-looking 
fellow — who  proclaimed  himself  a  tradesman  while  that 
splendid  physique  of  his  should  be  at  his  country's  service 
— which  still  puzzled  the  worthy  army  surgeon. 

But  he  was  primarily  ver>'  thirsty  and  secondly  as  eager 
to  impart  his  news  as  de  Marmont  was  to  hear  it,  so  now 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  36 

without  wasting  any  further  words  on  less  important  mat- 
ter he  sat  down  close  to  the  table  and  stretched  his  short, 
thick  legs  out  before  him. 

"My  news  is  of  the  best,"  he  said  with  lusty  fervour. 
"We  left  Porto  Ferrajo  on  Sunday  last  but  only  landed  on 
Wednesday,  as  I  told  you,  for  we  were  severely  becalmed 
in  the  Mediterranean,  We  came  on  shore  at  Antibes  at 
midday  of  March  ist  and  bivouacked  in  an  olive  grove  on 
the  way  to  Cannes.  That  was  a  sight  good  for  sore  eyes, 
my  friends,  to  see  him  sitting  there  by  the  camp  fire,  his 
feet  firmly  planted  upon  the  soil  of  France.  What  a  man. 
Sir,  what  a  man!"  he  continued,  turning  directly  to  Qyf- 
furde,  "on  board  the  Inconstant  he  had  composed  and  dic- 
tated his  proclamation  to  the  army,  to  the  soldiers  of 
France!  the  finest  piece  of  prose.  Sir,  I  have  ever  read  in 
all  my  life.  But  you  shall  judge  of  it.  Sir,  you  shall 
judge.  .  .  ." 

And  with  hands  shaking  with  excitement  he  fumbled 
in  the  bulging  pocket  of  his  coat  and  extracted  therefrom 
a  roll  of  loose  papers  roughly  tied  together  with  a  piece 
of  tape. 

"You  shall  read  it,  Sir,"  he  went  on  mumbling,  while  his 
trembling  fingers  vainly  tried  to  undo  the  knot  in  the  tape, 
"you  shall  read  it.  And  then  mayhap  you'll  tell  me  if  your 
Pitt  was  ever  half  so  eloquent  Curse  these  knots!"  he  ex- 
claimed angrily. 

"Will  you  allow  me,  Sir?"  said  Qyffurde  quietly,  and 
with  steady  hand  and  firm  fingers  he  undid  the  refractory 
knots  and  spread  the  papers  out  upon  the  table. 

Already  de  Marmont  had  given  a  cry  of  loyalty  and  o| 
triumph. 

"His  proclamation !"  he  exclaimed,  and  a  sigh  of  infinite 
satisfaction  born  of  enthusiasm  and  of  hero-worship  es- 
caped his  quivering  lips. 

The  papers  bore  the  signature  of  that  name  which  had 


36  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

once  been  all-powerful  in  its  magical  charm,  at  sound  of 
which  Europe  had  trembled  and  crowns  had  felt  insecure, 
the  name  which  men  had  breathed — nay!  still  breathed — 
either  with  passionate  loyalty  or  with  bitter  hatred : — "Na- 
poleon." 

They  were  copies  of  the  proclamation  wherewith  the 
heroic  adventurer — confident  in  the  power  of  his  diction 
— meant  to  reconquer  the  hearts  of  that  army  whom  he 
had  once  led  to  such  glorious  victories. 

De  Marmont  read  the  long  document  through  from  end 
to  end  in  a  half -audible  voice.  Now  and  again  he  gave 
a  little  cry — a  cry  of  loyalty  at  mention  of  those  victories 
of  Austerlitz  and  Jena,  of  Wagram  and  of  Eckmiihl,  at 
mention  of  those  imperial  eagles  which  had  led  the  armies 
of  France  conquering  and  glorious  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Europe — or  a  cry  of  shame  and  horror 
at  mention  of  the  traitor  whose  name  he  bore  and  who 
had  delivered  France  into  the  hands  of  strangers  and  his 
Emperor  into  those  of  his  enemies. 

And  when  the  young  enthusiast  had  read  the  proclama- 
tion through  to  the  end  he  raised  the  paper  to  his  lips  and 
fervently  kissed  the  imprint  of  the  revered  name:  "Na- 
poleon." 

"Now  tell  me  more  about  him,"  he  said  finally,  as  he 
leaned  both  elbows  on  the  table  and  fastened  his  glowing 
eyes  upon  the  equally  heated  face  of  Surgeon-Captain 
Emery. 

"Well !"  resumed  the  latter,  "as  I  told  you  we  bivouacked 
among  the  olive  trees  on  the  way  to  Cannes.  The  Em- 
peror had  already  sent  Cambronne  on  ahead  with  forty  of 
his  grenadiers  to  commandeer  what  horses  and  mules  he 
could,  as  we  were  not  able  to  bring  many  across  from  Porto 
Ferrajo.  'Cambronne,'  he  said,  'you  shall  be  in  command 
of  the  vanguard  in  this  the  finest  campaign  which  I  have 
ever  undertaken.     My  orders  are  to  you,  that  you  do  not 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  87 

fire  a  single  unnecessary  shot.  Remember  that  I  mean  to 
reconquer  my  imperial  crown  without  shedding  one  drop 
of  French  blood.'  Oh!  he  is  in  excellent  health  and  in  ex- 
cellent spirits!  Such  a  man!  such  fire  in  his  eyes!  such  de- 
termination in  his  actions !  Younger,  bolder  than  ever !  I 
tell  you,  friends,"  continued  the  worthy  surgeon-captain  as 
he  brought  the  palm  of  his  hand  flat  down  upon  the  table 
with  an  emphatic  bang,  "that  it  is  going  to  be  a  triumphal 
march  from  end  to  end  of  France.  The  people  are  mad 
about  him.  At  Roccavignon,  just  outside  Cannes,  where 
we  bivouacked  on  Thursday,  men,  women  and  children 
were  flocking  round  to  se^  him,  pressing  close  to  his  knees, 
bringing  him  wine  and  flowers ;  and  the  people  were  crying 
'Vive  I'Empereur!'  even  in  the  streets  of  Grasse." 

"But  the  anny,  man?  the  army?"  cried  de  Marmont,  "the 
garrisons  of  Antibes  and  Cannes  and  Grasse?  did  the  men 
go  over  to  him  at  once  ? — and  the  officers  ?" 

"We  hadn't  encountered  the  army  yet  when  I  parted 
from  him  on  Friday,"  retorted  Emery  with  equal  impa- 
tience, "we  didn't  go  into  Antibes  and  we  avoided  Cannes. 
You  must  give  him  time.  The  people  in  the  towns  wouldn't 
at  first  believe  that  he  had  come  back.  General  Massena, 
who  is  in  command  at  Marseilles,  thought  fit  to  spread  the 
news  that  a  band  of  Corsican  pirates  had  landed  on  the 
littoral  and  were  marching  inland — devastating  villages  as 
they  marched.  The  peasants  from  the  mountains  were  the 
first  to  believe  that  the  Emperor  had  really  come,  and  they 
wandered  down  in  their  hundreds  to  see  him  first  and  to 
spread  the  news  of  his  arrival  ahead  of  him.  By  the  time 
we  reached  Castellane  the  mayor  was  not  only  ready  to 
receive  him  but  also  to  furnish  him  with  5,000  rations  of 
meat  and  bread,  with  horses  and  with  mules.  Since  then 
he  has  been  at  Digue  and  at  Sisteron.  Be  sure  that  the 
garrisons  of  those  cities  have  rallied  round  his  eagles  by 
now." 


38  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Then  whilst  Emery  paused  for  breath  de  Marmont 
queried  eagerly: 

"And  so  .  .  .  there  has  been  no  contretemps?'* 

"Nothing  serious  so  far,"  replied  the  other.  "We  had 
to  abandon  our  guns  at  Grasse,  the  Emperor  felt  that  they 
would  impede  the  rapidity  of  his  progress;  and  our  sec- 
ond day's  march  was  rather  trying,  the  mountain  passes 
were  covered  in  snow,  the  lancers  had  to  lead  their  horses 
sometimes  along  the  edge  of  sheer  precipices,  they  were 
hampered  too  by  their  accoutrements,  their  long  swords  and 
their  lances;  others — 'who  had  no  mounts — had  to  carry 
their  heavy  saddles  and  bridles  on  those  slippery  paths. 
But  he  was  walking  too,  stick  in  hand,  losing  his  footing 
now  and  then,  just  as  they  did,  and  once  he  nearly  rolled 
down  one  of  those  cursed  precipices:  but  always  smiling, 
always  cheerful,  always  full  of  hope.  At  Antibes  young 
Casabianca  got  himself  arrested  with  twenty  grenadiers 
— they  had  gone  into  the  town  to  requisition  a  few  pro- 
visions. When  the  news  reached  us  some  of  the  younger 
men  tried  to  persuade  the  Emperor  to  march  on  the  city 
and  carry  the  place  by  force  of  arms  before  Casabianca's 
misfortune  got  bruited  abroad :  *No !'  he  said,  'every  min- 
ute is  precious.  All  we  can  do  is  to  get  along  faster  than 
the  evil  news  can  travel.  If  half  my  small  army  were 
captive  at  Antibes,  I  would  still  move  on.  If  every  man 
were  a  prisoner  in  the  citadel,  I  would  march  on  alone.' 
That's  the  man,  my  friends,"  cried  Emery  with  ever-grow- 
ing enthusiasm,  "that's  our  Emperor!" 

And  he  cast  a  defiant  look  on  Clyffurde,  as  much  as  to 
say :  "Bring  on  your  Wellington  and  your  armies  now !  the 
Emperor  has  come  back!  the  whole  of  France  will  know 
how  to  guard  him!"     Then  he  turned  to  de  Marmont. 

"And  now  tell  me  about  Grenoble,"  he  said. 

"Grenoble  had  an  inkling  of  the  news  already  last  night," 
said  de  Marmont,  whose  enthusiasm  was  no  whit  cooler 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  89 

than  that  of  Emery.  ''Marchand  has  been  secretly  as- 
sembling his  troops,  he  has  sent  to  Chambery  for  the 
7th  and  nth  regiment  of  the  line  and  to  Vienne  for  the 
4th  Hussars.  Inside  Grenoble  he  has  the  5th  infantry 
regiment,  the  4th  of  artillery  and  3rd  of  engineers,  with 
a  train  squadron.  This  morning  he  is  holding  a  council  of 
war,  and  I  know  that  he  has  been  in  constant  communica- 
tion with  Massena.  The  news  is  gradually  filtering  through 
into  the  town :  people  stand  at  the  street  corners  and  whis- 
per among  themselves;  the  word  'I'Empereur'  seemed 
wafted  upon  this  morning's  breeze.  .  .  ." 

"And  by  to-night  we'll  have  the  Emperor's  proclamation 
to  his  people  pinned  up  on  the  walls  of  the  Hotel  de  Villel" 
exclaimed  Emery,  and  with  hands  still  trembling  with  ex- 
citement he  gathered  the  precious  papers  once  more  to- 
gether and  slipped  them  back  into  his  coat  pocket.  Then 
he  made  a  visible  effort  to  speak  more  quietly:  "And 
now,"  he  said,  "for  one  very  important  matter  which,  by 
the  way,  was  the  chief  reason  for  my  asking  you,  my 
good  de  Marmont,  to  meet  me  here  before  my  getting  to 
Grenoble." 

"Yes?     What  is  it?"  queried  de  Marmont  eagerly. 

Surgeon-Captain  Emery  leaned  across  the  table;  instinc- 
tively he  dropped  his  voice,  and  though  his  excitement  had 
not  abated  one  jot,  though  his  eyes  still  glowed  and  his 
hands  still  fidgeted  nervously,  he  had  forced  himself  at 
last  to  a  semblance  of  calm. 

"The  matter  is  one  of  money,"  he  said  slowly.  "The 
Emperor  has  some  funds  at  his  disposal,  but  as  you  know, 
that  scurvy  government  of  the  Restoration  never  handed 
him  over  one  single  sou  of  the  yearly  revenue  which  it 
had  solemnly  agreed  and  sworn  to  pay  to  him  with  regu- 
larity. Now,  of  course,"  he  continued  still  more  emphati- 
cally, "we  who  believe  in  our  Emperor  as  we  believe  in  God, 
we  are  absolutely  convinced  that  the  army  will  rally  round 


40  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

him  to  a  man.  The  army  loves  him  and  has  never  ceased 
to  love  him,  the  army  will  follow  him  to  victory  and  to 
death.  But  the  most  loyal  army  in  the  world  cannot  sub- 
sist without  money,  and  the  Emperor  has  little  or  none. 
The  news  of  his  triumphant  march  across  France  will 
reach  Paris  long  before  he  does,  it  will  enable  His  Most 
Excellent  and  Most  Corpulent  Majesty  King  Louis  to  skip 
over  to  England  or  to  Ghent  with  everything  in  the  treas- 
ury on  which  he  can  lay  his  august  hands.  Now,  de  Mar- 
mont,  do  you  perceive  what  the  serious  matter  is  which 
caused  me  to  meet  you  here — twenty-five  kilometres  from 
Grenoble,  where  I  ought  to  be  at  the  present  moment." 

"Yes!  I  do  perceive  very  grave  trouble  there,"  said  de 
Marmont  with  characteristic  insouciance,  "but  one  which 
need  not  greatly  worry  the  Emperor.  I  am  rich,  thank 
God!  and  .  .  ." 

"And  may  God  bless  you,  my  dear  de  Marmont,  for  the 
thought,"  broke  in  Emery  earnestly,  "but  what  may  be 
called  a  large  private  fortune  is  as  nothing  before  the 
needs  of  an  army.  Soon,  of  course,  the  Emperor  will  be 
in  peaceful  possession  of  his  throne  and  will  have  all  the 
resources  of  France  at  his  command,  but  before  that  happy 
time  arrives  there  will  be  much  fighting,  and  many  days 
— weeks  perhaps — of  .anxiety  to  go  through.  During  those 
weeks  the  army  must  be  paid  and  fed;  and  your  private 
fortune,  my  dear  de  Marmont,  would — even  if  the  Emperor 
were  to  accept  your  sacrifice,  which  is  not  likely — ^be  but 
as  a  drop  in  the  mighty  ocean  of  the  cost  of  a  campaign. 
What  are  two  or  even  three  millions,  my  poor,  dear  friend  ? 
It  is  forty,  fifty  millions  that  the  Emperor  wants." 

De  Marmont  this  time  had  nothing  to  say.  He  was 
staring  moodily  and  silently  before  him. 

"Now,  that  is  what  I  have  come  to  talk  to  you  about," 
continued  Emery  after  a  few  seconds'  pause,  during  which 
he  had  once  more  thrown  a  quick,  half-suspicious  glance 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  41 

on  the  impassive,  though  obviously  interested  face  of  the 
EngHshman,  "always  supposing  that  Monsieur  here  is  on 
our  side." 

"Neither  on  your  side  nor  on  the  other,  Captain,"  said 
Bobby  Clyffurde  with  a  slight  tone  of  impatience.  "I  am 
a  mere  tradesman,  as  I  have  had  the  honour  to  tell  you :  a 
spectator  at  this  game  of  political  conflicts.  M.  de  Mar- 
mont  knows  this  well,  else  he  had  not  asked  me  to  accom- 
pany him  to-day  nor  offered  me  a  mount  to  enable  me  to 
do  so.  But  if  you  prefer  it,"  he  added  lightly,  "I  can  go 
for  a  stroll  while  you  discuss  these  graver  matters." 

He  would  have  risen  from  the  table  only  that  Emery  im- 
mediately detained  him. 

"No  offence,  Sir,"  said  the  surgeon-captain  bluntly. 

"None,  I  give  you  my  word,"  assented  the  Englishman. 
"It  is  only  natural  that  you  should  wish  to  discuss  such 
grave  matters  in  private.  Let  me  go  and  see  to  our  dejeuner 
in  the  meanwhile.  I  feel  sure  that  the  fricandeau  is  done 
to  a  turn  by  now.  I'll  have  it  dished  up  in  ten  minutes. 
I  pray  you  take  no  heed  of  me,"  he  added  in  response  to 
murmured  protestations  from  both  de  Marmont  and  Emery. 
"I  would  much  prefer  to  know  nothing  of  these  grave  mat- 
ters which  you  are  about  to  discuss." 

This  time  Emery  did  not  detain  him  as  he  rose  and 
turned  to  go  within  in  order  to  find  mine  host  or  Annette. 
The  two  Frenchmen  took  no  further  heed  of  him :  wrapped 
up  in  the  all  engrossing  subject-matter  they  remained  seated 
at  the  table,  leaning  across  it,  their  faces  close  to  one  an- 
other, their  eyes  dancing  with  excitement,  questions  and 
answers — as  soon  as  the  stranger's  back  was  turned — al- 
ready tumbling  out  in  confusion  from  their  lips. 

Clyffurde  turned  to  have  a  last  look  at  them  before 
he  went  into  the  house,  and  while  he  did  so  his  habitual, 
pleasant,  gently-ironical  smile  still  hovered  round  his  lips. 
But  anon  a  quickly-suppressed  sigh  chased  the  smile  away, 


4^  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

and  over  his  face  there  crept  a  strange  shadow — a  look  of 
longing  and  of  bitter  regret. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  the  next  he  had 
passed  his  hand  slowly  across  his  forehead,  as  if  to  wipe 
away  that  shadow  and  smooth  out  those  lines  of  unspoken 
pain. 

Soon  his  cheerful  voice  was  heard,  echoing  along  the  low 
rafters  of  the  little  inn,  loudly  calling  for  Annette  and  for 
news  of  the  baked  omelette  and  the  fricandeau. 


"You  really  could  have  talked  quite  freely  before  Mr. 
Clyffurde,  my  good  Emery,"  said  de  Marmont  as  soon  as 
Bobby  had  disappeared  inside  the  inn.  "He  really  takes 
no  part  in  politics.  He  is  a  friend  alike  of  the  Comte  de 
Cambray  and  of  glovemaker  Dumoulin.  He  has  visited 
our  Bonapartist  Club.  Dumoulin  has  vouched  for  him. 
You  see,  he  is  not  a  fighting  man." 

"I  suppose  that  you  are  equally  sure  that  he  is  not  an 
English  spy,"  remarked  Emery  drily. 

"Of  course  I  am  sure,"  asserted  de  Marmont  emphati- 
cally. "Dumoulin  has  known  him  for  years  in  business, 
though  this  is  the  first  time  that  Clyffurde  has  visited 
Grenoble.  He  is  in  the  glove  trade  in  England :  his  interests 
are  purely  commercial.  He  came  here  with  introductions 
to  the  Comte  de  Cambray  from  a  mutual  friend  in  Eng- 
land who  seems  to  be  a  personage  of  vast  importance  in 
his  own  country  and  greatly  esteemed  by  the  Comte — else 
you  may  be  sure  that  that  stiff-necked  aristocrat  would 
never  have  received  a  tradesman  as  a  guest  in  his  house. 
But  it  was  in  Dumoulin's  house  that  I  first  met  Bobby 
Clyffurde.  We  took  a  liking  {o  one  another,  and  since 
then  have  ridden  a  great  deal  together.  He  is  a  splendid 
horseman,  and  I  was  very  glad  to  be  able  to  offer  him  a 
mount  at  different  times.     But  our  political  conversations 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  43 

have  never  been  very  heated  or  very  serious.  Clyffurde 
maintains  a  detached  impersonal  attitude  both  to  the  Bona- 
partist  and  the  royahst  cause.  I  asked  him  to  accompany 
me  this  morning  and  he  gladly  consented,  for  he  dearly 
loves  a  horse.  I  assure  you,  you  might  have  said  anything 
before  him." 

"Eh  bien!  I'm  sorry  if  I've  been  obstinate  and  ungra- 
cious," said  the  surgeon-captain,  but  in  a  tone  that  ob- 
viously belied  his  words,  "though,  frankly,  I  am  very  glad 
that  we  are  alone  for  the  moment." 

He  paused,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  thick,  short-fingered 
hand  he  dismissed  this  less  important  subject-matter  and 
once  more  spoke  with  his  wonted  eagerness  on  that  which 
lay  nearest  his  heart. 

"Now  listen,  my  good  de  Marmont,"  he  said,  "do  you 
recollect  last  April  when  the  Empress — ^poor  wretched,  mis- 
guided woman — fled  so  precipitately  from  Paris,  abandon- 
ing the  capital,  France  and  her  crown  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  and  taking  away  with  her  all  the  Crown  diamonds  and 
money  and  treasure  belonging  to  the  Emperor?  She  was 
terribly  ill-advised,  of  course,  but  ..." 

"Yes,  I  remember  all  that  perfectly  well,"  broke  in  de 
Marmont  impatiently. 

"Well,  then,  you  know  that  that  abominable  Talley- 
rand sent  one  of  his  emissaries  after  the  Empress  and  her 
suite  .  .  .  that  this  emissary — Dudon  was  his  name — 
reached  Orleans  just  before  Marie  Louise  herself  got 
there.  .  .  ." 

"And  that  he  ordered,  in  Talleyrand's  name,  the  seizure 
of  the  Empress'  convoy  as  soon  as  it  arrived  in  the  city," 
broke  in  de  Marmont  again.  "Yes.  I  recollect  that  abom- 
inable outrage  perfectly.  Dudon,  backed  by  the  officers 
of  the  gendarmerie,  managed  to  rob  the  Empress  of  every- 
thing she  had,  even  to  the  last  knife  and  fork,  even  to  the 
last  pocket  handkerchief  belonging  to  the  Emperor  and 


44  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

marked  with  his  initials.  Oh !  it  was  monstrous !  hellish ! 
devilish!  It  makes  my  blood  boil  whenever  I  think  of  it 
.  .  .  whenever  I  think  of  those  fatuous,  treacherous  Bour- 
bons gloating  over  those  treasures  at  the  Tuileries,  while 
our  Empress  went  her  way  as  effectually  despoiled  as  if 
she  had  been  waylaid  by  so  many  brigands  on  a  public 
highway." 

"Just  so,"  resumed  Emery  quietly  after  de  Marmont's 
violent  storm  of  wrath  had  subsided.  "But  I  don't  know  if 
you  also  recollect  that  when  the  various  cases  containing  the 
Emperor's  belongings  were  opened  at  the  Tuileries,  there 
was  just  as  much  disappointment  as  gloating.  Some  of 
those  fatuous  Bourbons — ^as  you  so  rightly  call  them — ex- 
pected to  find  some  forty  or  fifty  millions  of  the  Emperor's 
personal  savings  there — bank-notes  and  drafts  on  the  banks 
of  France,  of  England  and  of  Amsterdam,  which  they 
were  looking  forward  to  distributing  among  themselves  and 
their  friends.  Your  friend  the  Comte  de  Cambray  would 
no  doubt  have  come  in  too  for  his  share  in  this  distribu- 
tion. But  M.  de  Talleyrand  is  a  very  wise  man!  always 
far-seeing,  he  knows  the  improvidence,  the  prodigality,  the 
ostentation  of  these  new  masters  whom  he  is  so  ready  to 
serve.  Ere  Dudon  reached  Paris  with  his  booty,  M.  de 
Talleyrand  had  very  carefully  eliminated  therefrom  some 
five  and  twenty  million  francs  in  bank-notes  and  bankers' 
drafts,  which  he  felt  would  come  in  very  usefully  once  for 
a  rainy  day. 

"But  M.  de  Talleyrand  is  immensely  rich  himself,"  pro- 
tested de  Marmont. 

"Ah !  he  did  not  eliminate  those  five  and  twenty  millions 
for  his  own  benefit,"  said  Emery.  "I  would  not  so  boldly 
accuse  him  of  theft.  The  money  has  been  carefully  put 
away  by  M.  de  Talleyrand  for  the  use  of  His  Corpulent 
Majesty  Louis  de  Bourbon,  XVHIth  of  that  name." 

Then  as  Emery  here  made  a  dramatic  pause  and  looked 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  45 

triumphantly  across  at  his  companion,  de  Marmont  re- 
joined somewhat  bewildered : 

"But  ...  I  don't  understand  ..." 

"Why  I  am  telling  you  this?"  retorted  Emery,  still  with 
that  triumphant  air.  "You  shall  understand  in  a  moment, 
my  friend,  when  I  tell  you  that  those  five  and  twenty  mil- 
lions were  never  taken  north  to  Paris,  they  were  conveyed 
in  strict  secrecy  south  to  Grenoble!" 

"To  Grenoble  ?"  exclaimed  de  Marmont 

"To  Grenoble,"  reasserted  Emery. 

"But  why?  ,  .  .  why  such  a  long  way  ? — why  Grenoble  ?" 
queried  the  young  man  in  obvious  puzzlement. 

"For  several  reasons,"  replied  Emery.  "Firstly  both 
the  prefet  of  the  department  and  the  military  commandant 
are  hot  royalists,  whilst  the  province  of  Dauphine  is  not. 
In  case  of  any  army  corps  being  sent  down  there  to  quell 
possible  and  probable  revolt,  the  money  would  have  been 
there  to  hand:  also,  if  you  remember,  there  was  talk  at  the 
time  of  the  King  of  Naples  proving  troublesome.  There, 
too,  in  case  of  a  campaign  on  the  frontier,  the  money  lying 
ready  to  hand  at  Grenoble  could  prove  very  useful.  But 
of  course  I  cannot  possibly  pretend  to  give  you  all  the 
reasons  which  actuated  M.  de  Talleyrand  when  he  caused 
five  and  twenty  millions  of  stolen  money  to  be  conveyed 
secretly  to  Grenoble  rather  than  to  Paris.  His  ways  are 
more  tortuous  than  any  mere  army-surgeon  can  possibly 
hope  to  gauge.  Enough  that  he  did  it  and  that  at  this  very 
moment  there  are  five  and  twenty  millions  which  are  the 
rightful  property  of  the  Emperor  locked  up  in  the  cellars 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  at  Grenoble." 

"But  ..."  murmured  de  Mamiont,  who  still  seemed 
very  bewildered  at  all  that  he  had  heard,  "are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure,"  affirmed  Emery  emphatically.  "Dumoulin 
brought  news  of  it  to  the  Emperor  at  Elba  several  months 
ago,  and  you  know  that  he  and  his  Bonapartist  Club  always 


46  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

have  plenty  of  spies  in  and  around  the  prefecture.  The 
money  is  there,"  he  reiterated  with  still  greater  emphasis, 
"now  the  question  is  how  are  we  going  to  get  hold  of  it." 

"Easily,"  rejoined  de  Marmont  with  his  habitual  enthusi- 
asm, "when  the  Emperor  marches  into  Grenoble  and  the 
whole  of  the  garrison  rallies  around  him,  he  can  go  straight 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  take  everything  that  he  wants." 

"Always  supposing  that  M.  le  prefet  does  not  anticipate 
the  Emperor's  coming  by  conveying  the  money  to  Paris  or 
elsewhere  before  we  can  get  hold  of  it,"  quoth  Emery  drily. 

"Oh!  Fourier  is  not  sufficiently  astute  for  that." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  we  must  not  neglect  possibilities. 
That  money  would  be  a  perfect  godsend  to  the  Emperor.  It 
was  originally  his  too,  par  Dieii!  Anyhow,  my  good  de 
Marmont,  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  talk  over  quietly  with 
you  before  I  get  into  Grenoble.  Can  you  think  of  any 
means  of  getting  hold  of  that  money  in  case  Fourier  has  the 
notion  of  conveying  it  to  some  other  place  of  safety?" 

"I  would  like  to  think  that  over,  Emery,"  said  de  Mar- 
mont thoughtfully.  "As  you  say,  we  of  the  Bonapartist 
Club  at  Grenoble  have  spies  inside  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  We 
must  try  and  find  out  what  Fourier  means  to  do  as  soon 
as  he  realises  that  the  Emperor  is  marching  on  Grenoble: 
and  then  we  must  act  accordingly  and  trust  to  luck  and 
good  fortune." 

"And  to  the  Emperor's  star,"  rejoined  Emery  earnestly; 
"it  is  once  more  in  the  ascendant.  But  the  matter  of  the 
money  is  a  serious  one,  de  Marmont.  You  will  deal  with  it 
seriously?" 

"Seriously !"  ejaculated  de  Marmont. 

Once  more  the  unquenchable  fire  of  undying  devotion  to 
his  hero  glowed  in  the  young  man's  eyes. 

"Everything  pertaining  to  the  Emperor,"  he  said  fer- 
vently, "is  serious  to  me.  For  a  whim  of  his  I  would  lay 
down  my  life.    I  will  think  of  all  you  have  told  me,  Emery, 


THE  GLORIOUS  NEWS  47 

and  here,  beneath  the  blue  dome  of  God's  sky,  I  swear  that 
I  will  get  the  Emperor  the  money  that  he  wants  or  lose  mine 
honour  and  my  life  in  the  attempt. 

"Amen  to  that,"  rejoined  Emery  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
satisfaction.  "You  are  a  brave  man,  de  Marmont,  would 
to  heaven  every  Frenchman  was  like  you.  And  now,"  he 
added  with  sudden  transition  to  a  lighter  mood,  "let  Annette 
dish  up  the  fricandeau.  Here's  our  friend  the  tradesman, 
who  was  born  to  be  a  soldier.  M.  Qyffurde,"  he  added 
loudly,  calling  to  the  Englishman  who  had  just  appeared 
in  the  doorway  of  the  inn,  "my  grateful  thanks  to  you — 
not  only  for  your  courtesy,  but  for  expediting  that  de- 
licious dejeuner  which  tickles  my  appetite  so  pleasantly. 
I  pray  you  sit  down  without  delay.  I  shall  have  to  make 
an  early  start  after  the  meal,  as  I  must  be  inside  Grenoble 
before  dark." 

Clyffurde,  good-humoured,  genial,  quiet  as  usual,  quickly 
responded  to  the  surgeon-captain's  desire.  He  took  his 
seat  once  more  at  the  table  and  spoke  of  the  weather  and 
the  sunshine,  the  Alps  and  the  snows  the  while  Annette 
spread  a  cloth  and  laid  plates  and  knives  and  forks  before 
the  distinguished  gentlemen. 

"We  all  want  to  make  an  early  start,  eh,  my  dear  Clyf- 
furde?" ejaculated  de  Marmont  gaily.  "We  have  serious 
business  to  transact  this  night  with  M.  le  Comte  de  Cam- 
bray,  and  partake  too  of  his  gracious  hospitality,  what?" 

Emery  laughed. 

"Not  I  forsooth,"  he  said.  "M.  le  Comte  would  as  soon 
have  Satan  or  Beelzebub  inside  his  doors.  And  I  marvel, 
my  good  de  Marmont,  that  you  have  succeeded  in  keeping 
on  such  friendly  terms  with  that  royalist  ogre." 

"I?"  said  de  Marmont,  whose  inward  exultation  radiated 
from  his  entire  personality,  "I,  my  dear  Emery?  Did  you 
not  know  that  I  am  that  royalist  ogre's  future  son-in-law? 
Par  Dieu!  but  this  is  a  glorious  day  for  me  as  well  as  a 


48  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

glorious  day  for  France !  Emery,  dear  friend,  wish  me  joy 
and  happiness.  On  Tuesday  I  wed  Mademoiselle  Crystal 
de  Cambray — to-night  we  sign  our  marriage  contract !  Wish 
me  joy,  I  say !  she's  a  bride  well  worth  the  winning !  Na- 
poleon sets  forth  to  conquer  a  throne — I  to  conquer  love. 
And  you,  old  sober-face,  do  not  look  so  glum!"  he  added, 
turning  to  Clyffurde. 

And  his  ringing  laugh  seemed  to  echo  from  end  to  end 
of  the  narrow  valley. 

After  which  a  lighter  atmosphere  hung  around  the  table 
outside  the  "Auberge  du  Grand  Dauphin."  There  was  but 
little  talk  of  the  political  situation,  still  less  of  party  hatred 
and  caste  prejudices.  The  hero's  name  was  still  on  the  lips 
of  the  two  men  who  worshipped  him,  and  Clyffurde,  faithful 
to  his  attitude  of  detachment  from  political  conflicts,  listened 
quite  unmoved  to  the  impassioned  dithyrambs  of  his  friends. 

But  so  absorbed  were  these  two  in  their  conversation  and 
their  joy  that  they  failed  to  notice  that  Clyffurde  hardly 
touched  the  excellent  dejeuner  set  before  him  and  left  mine 
host's  fine  Burgundy  almost  untasted. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   OLD    REGIME 


On  that  same  day  and  at  about  the  same  time  when  Victor 
de  Marmont  and  his  English  friend  first  turned  their  horses 
up  the  bridle  path  and  sighted  Notre  Dame  de  Vaulx  (when, 
if  you  remember,  the  young  Frenchman  drew  rein  and  fell 
to  apostrophising  the  hamlet,  the  day,  the  hour  and  the 
glorious  news  which  he  was  expecting  to  hear)  at  about  that 
self-same  hour,  I  say,  in  the  Chateau  de  Brestalou,  situate 
on  the  right  bank  of  the  Isere  at  a  couple  of  kilometres  from 
Grenoble,  the  big  folding  doors  of  solid  mahogany  which 
lead  from  the  suite  of  vast  reception  rooms  to  the  small 
boudoir  beyond  were  thrown  open  and  Hector  appeared 
to  announce  that  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  would  be 
ready  to  receive  Mme.  la  Duchesse  in  the  library  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

Mme.  la  Duchesse  douairiere  d'Agen  thereupon  closed 
the  gilt-edged,  much-bethumbed  Missal  which  she  was  read- 
ing— since  this  was  Sunday  and  she  had  been  unable  to 
attend  Mass  owing  to  that  severe  twinge  of  rheumatism  in 
her  right  knee — ^and  placed  it  upon  the  table  close  to  her 
elbow;  then  with  delicate,  bemittened  hand  she  smoothed 
out  one  unruly  crease  in  her  puce  silk  gown  and  finally 
looked  up  through  her  round,  bone-rimmed  spectacles  at  the 
sober-visaged,  majestic  personage  who  stood  at  attention 
in  the  doorway. 

49 


50  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Tell  M,  le  Comte,  my  good  Hector,"  she  said  with  slow 
deliberation,  "that  I  will  be  with  him  at  the  time  which 
he  has  so  graciously  appointed." 

Hector  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room  with  that  perfect 
decorum  which  proclaims  the  well-trained  domestic  of  an 
aristocratic  house.  As  soon  as  the  tall  mahogany  doors 
were  closed  behind  him,  Mme.  la  Duchesse  took  her  spec- 
tacles off  from  her  high-bred  nose  and  gave  a  little  snifif, 
which  caused  Mademoiselle  Crystal  to  look  up  from  her 
book  and  mutely  to  question  Madame  with  those  wonder- 
ful blue  eyes  of  hers, 

"Ah  ga,  my  little  Crystal,"  was  Madame's  tart  response 
to  that  eloquent  enquiry,  "does  Monsieur  my  brother 
imagine  himself  to  be  a  second  Bourbon  king,  throning  it 
in  the  Tuileries  and  granting  audiences  to  the  ladies  of  his 
court?  or  is  it  only  for  my  edification  that  he  plays  this 
magnificent  game  of  etiquette  and  ceremonial  and  other 
stupid  paraphernalia  which  have  set  me  wondering  since 
last  night?  M.  le  Comte  will  receive  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  forsooth,"  she  added,  mimicking 
Hector's  pompous  manner;  "par  Dieu!  I  should  think  in- 
deed that  he  would  receive  his  own  sister  when  and  where 
it  suited  her  convenience — not  his." 

Crystal  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two:  and  in  those 
same  expressive  eyes  which  she  kept  fixed  on  Madame's 
face,  the  look  of  mute  enquiry  had  become  more  insistent. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  were  trying  to  penetrate  the  un- 
derlying thoughts  of  the  older  woman,  as  if  she  tried  to 
read  all  that  there  was  in  that  kindly  glance  of  hidden  sar- 
casm, of  humour  or  tolerance,  or  of  gentle  contempt.  Evi- 
dently what  she  read  in  the  wrinkled  face  and  the  twinkling 
eyes  pleased  and  reassured  her,  for  now  the  suspicion  of 
a  smile  found  its  way  round  the  comers  of  her  sensitive 
mouth. 

There  are  some  very  old  people  living  in  Grenoble  at 


THE  OLD  REGIME  51 

the  present  day  whose  mothers  or  fathers  have  told  them 
that  they  remembered  Mademoiselle  Crystal  de  Cambray 
quite  well  in  the  year  that  M,  le  Comte  returned  from 
England  and  once  more  took  possession  of  his  ancestral 
home  on  the  bank  of  the  Isere,  which  those  awful  Terror- 
ists of  '92  had  taken  away  from  him.  Louis  XVIIL,  the 
Benevolent  king,  had  promptly  restored  the  old  chateau  to 
its  rightful  owner,  when  he  himself,  after  years  of  exile, 
mounted  the  throne  of  his  fathers,  and  the  usurper  Bona- 
parte was  driven  out  of  France  by  the  armies  of  Europe 
allied  against  him,  and  sent  to  cool  his  ambitions  in  the 
island   fastnesses  of  Elba. 

Mademoiselle  de  Cambray  was  just  nineteen  in  that  year 
18 14  which  was  so  full  of  grace  for  the  Bourbon  dynasty 
and  all  its  faithful  adherents,  and  in  February  of  the  fol- 
lowing year  she  attained  her  twentieth  birthday.  Of  course 
you  know  that  she  was  born  in  England,  and  that  her 
mother  was  English,  for  had  not  M.  le  Comte  been  obliged 
to  fly  before  the  fury  of  the  Terrorists,  whose  dreaded 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  had  already  arrested  him  as  a 
"suspect"  and  condemned  him  to  the  guillotine.  He  had 
contrived  to  escape  death  by  what  was  nothing  short  of  a 
miracle,  and  he  had  lived  for  twenty  years  in  England,  and 
there  had  married  a  beautiful  English  girl  from  whom 
Mademoiselle  Crystal  had  inherited  the  deep  blue  eyes  and 
brilliant  skin  which  were  the  greatest  charm  of  her  efful- 
gent beauty. 

I  like  to  think  of  her  just  as  she  was  on  that  memorable 
day  early  in  March  of  the  year  18 15 — just  as  she  sat  that 
morning  on  a  low  stool  close  to  Mme.  la  Duchesse's  high- 
backed  chair,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  so  enquiringly  upon 
Madame's  kind  old  face.  Her  fair  hair  was  done  up  in  the 
quaint  loops  and  curls  which  characterised  the  mode  of  the 
moment:  she  had  on  a  white  dress  cut  low  at  the  neck 
and  had  wrapped  a  soft  cashmere  shawl  round  her  shoul- 


62  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

ders,  for  the  weather  was  cold  and  there  was  no  fire  in 
tlie  stately  open  hearth. 

Having  presumably  arrived  at  the  happy  conclusion  that 
Madame's  wrath  was  only  on  the  surface,  Crystal  now  said 
gently : 

"Father  loves  all  this  etiquette,  ma  tante;  it  brings  back' 
memories  of  a  very  happy  past.  It  is  the  only  thing  he 
has  left  now,"  she  added  with  a  little  sigh,  "the  only  bit 
out  of  the  past  which  that  awful  revolution  could  not  take 
away  from  him.  You  will  try  to  be  indulgent  to  him,  aunt 
darling,  won't  you?" 

"Indulgent?"  retorted  the  old  lady  with  a  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  "of  course  I'll  be  indulgent.  It's  no  affair  of 
mine  and  he  does  as  he  pleases.  But  I  should  have  thought 
that  twenty  years  spent  in  England  would  have  taught  him 
commonsense,  and  twenty  years'  experience  in  earning  a 
precarious  livelihood  as  a  teacher  of  languages  in  .  .  ." 

"Hush,  aunt,  for  pity's  sake,"  broke  in  Crystal  hurriedly, 
and  she  put  up  her  hands  almost  as  if  she  wished  to  stop 
the  words  in  the  old  lady's  mouth. 

"All  right!  all  right!  I  won't  mention  it  again,"  said 
Mme.  la  Duchesse  good-humouredly.  "I  have  only  been 
in  this  house  four  and  twenty  hours,  my  dear  child,  but  I 
have  already  learned  my  lesson.  I  know  that  the  memory 
of  the  past  twenty  years  must  be  blotted  right  out  of  our 
minds — out  of  the  minds  of  every  one  of  us.  .  .  ." 

"Not  of  mine,  aunt,  altogether,"  murmured  Crystal 
softly. 

"No,  my  dear — not  altogether,"  rejoined  Mme.  la  Du- 
chesse as  she  placed  one  of  her  fine  white  hands  on  the  fair 
head  of  her  niece;  "your  beautiful  mother  belongs  to  the 
unforgettable  memories,   of  those   twenty  years.  .  .  ." 

"And  not  only  my  beautiful  mother,  aunt  dear.  There 
are  men  living  in  England  to-day  whose  names  must  re- 
main for  ever  engraved  upon  my  father's  heart,  as  well  as 


THE  OLD  REGIME  53 

on  mine — if  we  should  ever  forget  those  names  and  neglect 
for  one  single  day  our  prayers  of  gratitude  for  their  wel- 
fare and  their  reward,  we  should  be  the  meanest  and  black- 
est of  ingrates." 

"Ah!"  said  Madame,  "I  am  glad  that  Monsieur  my 
brother  remembers  all  that  in  the  midst  of  his  restored 
grandeur." 

"Have  you  been  wronging  him  in  your  heart  all  this 
while,  nm  tantef"  asked  Crystal,  and  there  was  a  slight 
tone  of  reproach  in  her  voice*  "you  used  not  to  be  so  cyni- 
cal once  upon  a  time." 

"Cynical!"  exclaimed  the  Duchesse,  "bless  the  child's 
heart!  Of  course  I  am  cynical — at  my  age  what  can  you 
expect? — ^and  what  can  I  expect?  But  there,  don't  distress 
yourself,  I  am  not  wronging  your  father — far  from  it — 
only  this  grandeur — the  state  dinner  last  night — his 
gracious  manner — all  that  upset  me.  I  am  not  used  to 
it,  my  dear,  you  see.  Twenty  years  in  that  diminutive 
house  in  Worcester  have  altered  my  tastes,  I  see,  more  than 
they  did  your  father's  .  .  .  and  these  last  ten  months  which 
he  seems  to  have  spent  in  reviving  the  old  grandeur  of  his 
ancestral  home,  I  spent,  remember,  with  the  dear  little  Sis- 
ters of  Mercy  at  Boulogne,  praying  amidst  very  humble 
surroundings  that  the  future  may  not  become  more  unen- 
durable than  the  past." 

"But  you  are  glad  to  be  back  at  Brestalou  again?  and 
you  will  remain  here  with  us — always?"  queried  Crystal, 
and  with  tender  eagerness  she  clasped  the  older  woman's 
hands  closely  in  her  own. 

"Yes,  dear,"  replied  Madame  gently.  "I  am  glad  to  be 
back  in  the  old  chateau — my  dear  old  home — where  I  was 
very  happy  and  very  young  once — oh,  so  very  long  ago! 
And  I  will  remain  with  your  father  and  look  after  him  all 
the  time  that  his  young  JDird  is  absent  from  the  nest." 

Again  she  stroked  her  niece's  soft,  wavy  hair  with  a 


54  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

gesture  which  apparently  was  habitual  with  her,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  a  note  of  sadness  had  crept  into  her  brisk, 
sharp  voice.  Over  Crystal's  cheeks  a  wave  of  crimson  had 
quickly  swept  at  her  aunt's  last  words :  and  the  eyes  which 
she  now  raised  to  Madame's  kindly  face  were  full  of  tears. 

"It  seems  so  terribly  soon  now,  tna  tante,"  she  said  wist- 
fully. 

"Hm,  yes!"  quoth  Mme.  la  Duchesse  drily,  "time  has 
a  knack  now  and  then  of  flying  faster  than  we  wish.  Well, 
my  dear,  so  long  as  this  day  brings  you  happiness,  the  old 
folk  who  stay  at  home  have  no  right  to  grumble." 

Then  as  Crystal  made  no  reply  and  held  her  little  head 
resolutely  away,  Madame  said  more  insistently : 

"You  are  happy.  Crystal,  are  you  not?" 

"Of  course  I  am  happy,  ma  tante,"  replied  Crystal 
quickly,  "why  should  you  ask?" 

But  still  she  would  not  look  straight  into  Madame's  eyes, 
and  the  tone  of  Madame's  voice  sounded  anything  but  satis- 
fied. 

"Well!"  she  said,  "I  ask,  I  suppose,  because  I  want  an 
answer  ...  a  satisfactory  answer." 

"You  have  had  it,  ma  tante,  have  you  not  ?"' 

"Yes,  my  dear.  If  you  are  happy,  I  am  satisfied.  But 
last  night  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  your  ideas  of  your  own  hap- 
piness and  those  of  your  father  on  the  same  subject  were 
somewhat  at  variance,  eh?" 

"Oh  no,  ma  tante,"  rejoined  Crystal  quietly,  "father  and 
I  are  quite  of  one  mind  on  that  subject." 

"But  your  heart  is  pulling  a  different  way,  is  that  it  ?" 

Then  as  Crystal  once  more  relapsed  into  silence  and  two 
hot  tears  dropped  on  the  Duchesse's  wrinkled  hands,  the 
old  woman  added  softly : 

"St.  Genis,  who  hasn't  a  sou,  was  out  of  the  question, 
I  suppose." 

Crystal  shook  her  head  in  silence. 


THE  OLD  REGIME  5ft 

"And  that  young  de  Marmont  is  very  rich  ?'* 

"He  is  his  uncle's  heir,"  murmured  Crystal. 

"And  you,  child,  are  marrying  a  kinsman  of  that  abomin- 
able Due  de  Raguse  in  order  to  regild  our  family  escutch- 
eon." 

"My  father  wished  it  so  very  earnestly,"  rejoined  Crys- 
tal, who  was  bravely  swallowing  her  tears,  "and  I  could 
not  bear  to  run  counter  to  his  desire.  The  Due  de  Raguse 
has  promised  father  that  when  I  am  a  de  Marmont  he  will 
buy  back  all  the  forfeited  Cambray  estates  and  restore 
them  to  us:  Victor  will  be  allowed  to  take  up  the  name 
of  Cambray  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  ,  Oh!"  she  exclaimed  pas- 
sionately, "father  has  had  such  a  hard  life,  so  much  sorrow, 
so  many  disappointments,  and  now  this  poverty  is  so  hor- 
ribly grinding.  ...  I  couldn't  have  the  heart  to  disappoint 
him  in  this!" 

"You  are  a  good  child,  Crystal,"  said  Madame  gently, 
"and  no  doubt  Victor  de  Marmont  will  prove  a  good  hus- 
band to  you.    But  I  wish  he  wasn't  a  Marmont,  that's  all." 

But  this  remark,  delivered  in  the  old  lady's  most  uncom- 
promising manner,  brought  forth  a  hot  protest  from  Crys- 
tal: 

"Why,  aunt,"  she  said,  "the  Due  de  Raguse  is  the  most 
faithful  servant  the  king  could  possibly  wish  to  have. 
It  was  he  and  no  one  else  who  delivered  Paris  to  the  allies 
and  thus  brought  about  the  downfall  of  Bonaparte,  and 
the  restoration  of  our  dear  King  Louis  to  the  throne  of 
France." 

"Tush,  child,  I  know  th^t,"  said  Madame  with  her  habit- 
ual tartness  of  speech,  "I  know  it  just  as  well  as  history  will 
know  it  presently,  and  methinks  that  history  will  pass  on  the 
Due  de  Raguse  just  about  the  same  judgment  as  I  passed  on 
him  in  my  heart  last  year.  God  knows  I  hate  that  Bona- 
parte as  much  as  anyone,  and  our  Bourbon  kings  are  al- 
most as  much  a  part  of  my  religion  as  is  the  hierarchy  of 


66  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

saints,  but  a  traitor  like  de  Marmont  I  cannot  stomach. 
What  was  he  before  Bonaparte  made  him  a  marshal  of 
France  and  created  him  Due  de  Raguse  ? — An  out-at-elbows 
ragamuffin  in  the  ranks  of  the  republican  army.  To  Bona- 
parte he  owed  everything,  title,  money,  consideration,  even 
the  military  talents  which  gave  him  the  power  to  turn  on 
the  hand  that  had  fed  him.  Delivered  Paris  to  the  allies 
indeed!"  continued  the  Duchesse  with  ever-increasing  in- 
dignation and  volubility,  "betrayed  Bonaparte,  then  licked 
the  boots  of  the  Czar  of  Russia,  of  the  Emperor,  of  King 
Louis,  of  all  the  deadly  enemies  of  the  man  to  whom  he 
owed  his  very  existence.  Pouah!  I  hate  Bonaparte,  but 
men  like  Ney  and  Berthier  and  de  Marmont  sicken  me! 
Thank  God  that  even  in  his  life-time,  de  Marmont,  Due  de 
Raguse,  has  already  an  inkling  of  what  posterity  will  say 
of  him.  Has  not  the  French  language  been  enriched  since 
the  capitulation  of  Paris  with  a  new  word  that  henceforth 
and  for  all  times  will  always  spell  disloyalty:  and  to-day 
when  we  wish  to  describe  a  particularly  loathsome  type  of 
treachery,  do  we  not  already  speak  of  a  'ragusade'?" 

Crystal  had  listened  in  silence  to  her  aunt's  impassioned 
tirade.  Now  when  Madame  paused — ^presumably  for  want 
of  breath — she  said  gently: 

"That  is  all  quite  true,  ma  tante,  but  I  am  afraid  that 
father  would  not  altogether  see  eye  to  eye  with  you  in  this. 
After  all,"  she  added  naively,  "a  pagan  may  become  con- 
verted to  Christianity  without  being  called  a  traitor  to  his 
false  gods,  and  the  Due  de  Raguse  may  have  learnt  to  hate 
the  idol  whom  he  once  worshipp'ed,  and  for  this  profession 
of  faith  we  should  honour  him,  I  think." 

"Yes,"  grunted  Madame,  unconvinced,  "but  we  need  not 
marry  into  his  family." 

"But  in  any  case,"  retorted  Crystal,  "poor  Victor  cannot 
help  what  his  uncle  did." 

"No,  he  cannot,"  assented  the  Duchesse  decisively,  "and 


THE  OLD  REGIME  67 

he  is  very  rich  and  he  loves  you,  and  as  your  husband  he 
will  own  all  the  old  Cambray  estates  which  his  uncle  of 
ragusade  fame  will  buy  up  for  him,  and  presently  your 
son,  my  darling,  will  be  Comte  de  Cambray,  just  as  if  that 
awful  revolution  and  all  that  robbing  and  spoliation  had 
never  been.  And  of  course  everything  will  be  for  the 
best  in  the  best  possible  world,  if  only,"  concluded  the  old 
lady  with  a  sigh,  "if  only  I  thought  that  you  would  be 
happy." 

Crystal  took  care  not  to  meet  Madame's  kindly  glance 
just  then,  for  of  a  surety  the  tears  would  have  rushed  in  a 
stream  to  her  eyes.  But  she  would  not  give  way  to  any 
access  of  self-pity:  she  had  chosen  her  part  in  life  and  this 
she  meant  to  play  loyally,  without  regret  and  without  mur- 
mur. 

"But  of  course,  ma  tante,  I  shall  be  happy,"  she  said 
after  a  while;  "as  you  say,  M.  de  Marmont  is  very  kind 
and  good  and  I  know  that  father  will  be  happy  when 
Brestalou  and  Cambray  and  all  the  old  lands  are  once 
more  united  in  his  name.  Then  he  will  be  able  to  do 
something  really  great  and  good  for  the  King  and  for 
France  .  .  .  and  I  too,  perhaps.  .  .  ." 

"You,  my  poor  darling!"  exclaimed  Madame,  "what 
can  you  do,  I  should  like  to  know." 

A  curious,  dreamy  look  came  into  the  girl's  eyes,  just 
as  if  a  foreknowledge  of  the  drama  in  which  she  was  so 
soon  destined  to  play  the  chief  role  had  suddenly  appeared 
to  her  through  the  cloudy  and  distant  v-eils  of  futurity. 

"I  don't  know,  ma  tante,"  she  said  slowly,  "but  some- 
how I  have  always  felt  that  one  day  I  might  be  called  upon 
to  do  something  for  France.  There  are  times  when  that 
feeling  becomes  so  strong  that  all  thoughts  of  myself  and 
of  my  own  happiness  fade  from  my  knowledge,  and  it 
seems  as  if  my  duty  to  France  and  to  the  King  were  more 
insistent  than  my  duty  to  God." 


58  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Poor  France!"  sighed  Madame. 

"Yes !  that  is  just  what  I  feel,  ma  tante.  Poor  France ! 
She  has  suffered  so  much  more  than  we  have,  and  she  has 
regained  so  much  less !  Enemies  still  lurk  around  her ;  the 
prowling  wolf  is  still  at  her  gate:  even  the  throne  of  her 
king  is  still  insecure !  Poor,  poor  France !  our  country,  ma 
tante!  she  should  be  our  pride,  our  glory,  and  she  is  weak 
and  torn  and  beset  by  treachery!  Oh,  if  only  I  could  do 
something  for  France  and  for  the  King  I  would  count  my- 
self the  happiest  woman  on  God's  earth." 

Now  she  was  a  woman  transformed.  She  seemed  taller 
and  stronger.  Her  girlishness,  too,  had  vanished.  Her 
cheeks  burned,  her  eyes  glowed,  her  breath  came  and  went 
rapidly  through  her  quivering  nostrils.  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
d'Agen  looked  down  on  her  niece  with  naive  admiration. 

"He  my  little  Joan  of  Arc !"  she  said  merrily,  "par  Dieu, 
your  eloquence,  ma  mignonne,  has  warmed  up  my  old  heart 
too.  But,  please  God,  our  dear  old  country  will  not  have 
need  of  heroism  again." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  wo  tante." 

"You  are  thinking  of  that  ugly  rumour  which  was  cur- 
rent in  Grenoble  yesterday." 

"Yes!" 

"If  that  Corsican  brigand  dares  to  set  his  foot  again 
upon  this  land  .  .  ."  began  the  old  lady  vehemently. 

"Let  him  come,  ma  tante"  broke  in  Crystal  exultantly, 
"we  are  ready  for  him.  Let  him  come,  and  this  time 
when  God  has  punished  him  again,  it  won't  be  to  Elba 
that  he  will  be  sent  to  expiate  his  villainies!" 

"Amen  to  that,  my  child,"  concluded  Madame  fervently. 
"And  now,  my  dear,  don't  let  me  forget  the  hour  of  my 
audience.  Hector  will  be  back  in  a  moment  or  two,  and  I 
rnust  not  lose  any  more  time  gossiping.  But  before  I  go, 
little  one,  will  you  tell  me  one  thing?" 

"Of  course  I  will,  ma  tante." 


THE  OLD  REGIME  59 

"Quite  frankly?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Well  then,  I  want  to  know  .  .  .  about  that  English 
friend  of  yours.  .  .  ," 

"Mr.  Clyffurde,  you  mean?"  asked  Crystal.  "What 
about  him?" 

"I  want  to  know,  my  dear,  what  I  ought  to  make  of  this 
Mr.  Clyffurde." 

Crystal  laughed  lightly,  and  looked  up  with  astonished, 
inquiring,  wide-open  eyes  to  her  aunt. 

"What  should  you  want  to  make  of  him,  via  tantef" 
she  asked,  wholly  unperturbed  under  the  scrutinising  gaze 
of  Madame. 

"Nothing,"  said  the  Duchesse  abruptly.  "I  have  had  my 
answer,  thank  you,   dear." 

Evidently  she  had  no  intention  of  satisfying  the  girl's 
obvious  curiosity,  for  she  suddenly  rose  from  her  chair, 
gathered  her  lace  shawl  round  her  shoulders,  and  said 
with  abrupt  transition : 

"The  hour  for  my  audience  is  at  hand.  Not  one  minute 
must  I  keep  my  august  brother  waiting.  I  can  hear  Hec- 
tor's footsteps  in  the  corridor,  and  I  will  not  have  him  see 
me  in  a  fluster." 

Crystal  looked  as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  question 
Madame  a  little  more  closely  about  her  former  cryptic  ut- 
terance, but  there  was  something  in  the  sarcastic  twinkle 
of  those  sharp  eyes  which  caused  the  young  girl  to  refrain 
from  too  many  questions,  and — ^very  wisely — she  decided 
to  hold  her  peace. 

Madame  la  Duchesse  threw  a  quick  glance  into  the  gilt- 
framed  mirror  close  by.  She  smoothed  a  stray  wisp  of 
hair  which  had  escaped  from  under  her  lace  cap :  she  gave 
a  tug  to  her  fichu  and  a  pat  to  her  skirts.  Then,  as  the 
folding  doors  were  once  more  thrown  open,  and  Hector 
— stiff",  solemn  and  pompous — appeared  under  the  lintel. 


60  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Madame  threw  back  her  head  in  the  grand  manner  per- 
taining to  the  old  days  at  Versailles. 

"Precede  me,  Hector,"  she  said  with  consummate  dig- 
nity, "to  M.  le  Comte's  audience  chamber." 

And  with  hands  folded  before  her,  her  aristocratic  head 
very  erect,  her  mouth  and  eyes  composed  to  reposeful  maj- 
esty, she  sailed  out  through  the  mahogany  doors  in  a 
style  which  no  one  who  had  never  curtsied  to  the  Bien-aime 
Monarque  could  possibly  hope  to  imitate. 

II 

For  some  little  while  after  her  aunt  had  sailed  out  of  the 
room  Crystal  remained  where  she  was  sitting  on  the  low 
stool  beside  the  high-backed  chair  just  vacated  by  the  Duch- 
ess. 

Her  eyes  were  still  glowing  with  the  enthusiasm  which 
had  excited  the  admiration  of  the  older  woman  a  while  ago, 
and  the  high  colour  in  her  cheeks,  the  tremor  of  her  nos- 
trils showed  that  that  same  enthusiasm  still  kept  her  nerves 
on  the  quiver  and  caused  the  young,  hot  blood  to  course 
swiftly  through  her  veins. 

But  something  of  the  lightness  of  her  mood  had  vanished, 
something  of  the  exultant  joy  of  the  heroine  had  given 
place  to  the  calmer  resignation  of  the  potential  martyr. 
Gradually  the  colour  faded  from  her  cheeks,  the  light  died 
slowly  out  of  her  eyes,  and  the  young  fair  head  so  lately 
tossed  triumphantly  in  the  ardour  of  patriotism  sunk  gradu- 
ally upon  the  still  heaving  breast. 

Crystal  was  alone,  and  she  was  not  ashamed  to  let  the 
tears  well  up  to  her  eyes.  Despite  her  proud  profession 
of  faith  the  insistent  longing  for  happiness,  which  is  the 
inalienable  share  of  youth,  knocked  at  the  portals  of  her 
heart. 

Not  even  to  the  devoted  aunt  who  had  brought  her  up, 
who  had  known  her  every  childish   sorrow  and  gleaned 


THE  OLD  REGIME  cV 

her  everj'  childish  tear,  not  even  to  her  would  she  show 
what  it  cost  her  to  sink  her  individuality,  her  longings, 
her  hopes  of  happiness  into  that  overwhelming  sense  of 
duty  to  her  father's  wishes  and  to  the  demands  of  her  name, 
her  country  and  her  caste. 

She  had  repeated  it  to  herself  often  aud  often  that  her 
father  had  suffered  so  much  for  the  sake  of  his  convic- 
tions, had  endured  poverty  and  exile  where  opportunism 
would  have  dictated  submission  to  the  usurper  Bonaparte 
and  the  acceptance  of  riches  and  honours  at  his  hands,  he 
had  remained  loyal  in  his  beliefs,  steadfast  to  his  King 
through  twenty  years  of  misery,  akin  to  squalor,  the  re- 
membrance of  which  would  for  ever  darken  the  rest  of  his 
life,  but  he  had  endured  all  that  without  bitterness,  scarcely 
without  a  murmur.  And  now  that  twenty  years  of  self- 
abnegation  were  at  last  finding  their  reward,  now  that 
the  King  had  come  into  his  own,  and  the  King's  faithful 
friends  were  being  compensated  in  accordance  with  the 
length  of  the  King's  purse,  would  it  not  be  arrant  cowardice 
and  disloyalty  for  her — an  only  child — to  oppose  her  fa- 
ther's will  in  the  ordering  of  her  own  future,  to  refuse  the 
rich  marriage  which  would  help  to  restore  dignity  and 
grandeur  to  the  ancient  name  and  to  the  old  home? 

Crystal  de  Cambray  was  born  in  England :  she  had  lived 
the  whole  of  her  life  in  a  small  provincial  town  in  this 
country.  But  she  had  been  brought  up  by  her  aunt,  the 
Duchesse  douairiere  d'Agen,  and  through  that  upbringing 
she  had  been  made  to  imbibe  from  her  earliest  childhood  all 
the  principles  of  the  old  regime.  These  principles  consisted 
chiefly  of  implicit  obedience  by  the  children  to  the  parents' 
decrees  anent  marriage,  of  blind  worship  of  the  dignity  of 
station,  and  of  duty  to  name  and  caste,  to  king  and  country. 

The  thought  would  never  have  entered  Crystal's  head  that 
she  could  have  the  right  to  order  her  own  future,  or  to  de- 
mand from  life  her  own  special  brand  of  happiness. 


62  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Now  her  fate  had  been  finally  decided  on  by  her  father, 
and  she  was  on  the  point  of  taking — at  his  wish — the  irre- 
vocable step  which  would  bind  her  for  ever  to  a  man  whom 
she  could  never  love.  But  she  did  not  think  of  rebellion, 
she  had  no  thought  of  grumbling  at  Fate  or  at  her  father: 
Crystal  de  Cambray  had  English  blood  in  her  veins,  the 
blood  that  makes  men  and  women  accept  the  inevitable  with 
set  teeth  and  a  determination  to  do  the  right  thing  even  if 
it  hurts.  Crystal,  therefore,  had  no  thought  of  rebellion; 
she  only  felt  an  infinity  of  regret  for  something  sweet  and 
intangible  which  she  had  hardly  realised,  hardly  expected, 
which  had  been  too  elusive  to  be  called  hope,  too  remote  to 
be  termed  happiness.  She  gave  herself  the  luxury  of  this 
short  outburst  of  tears — since  nobody  was  near  and  nobody 
could  see:  there  was  a  fearful  pain  in  her  heart  while  she 
rested  her  head  against  the  cushion  of  the  stiff  high-backed 
chair  and  cried  till  it  seemed  that  she  never  could  cry  again 
whatever  sorrow  life  might  still  have  in  store  for  her. 

But  when  that  outburst  of  grief  had  subsided  she  dried 
her  eyes  resolutely,  rose  to  her  feet,  arranged  her  hair  in 
front  of  the  mirror,  and  feeling  that  her  eyes  were  hot  and 
her  head  heavy,  she  turned  to  the  tall  French  window, 
opened  it  and  stepped  out  into  the  garden. 

It  had  suffered  from  years  of  neglect,  the  shrubs  grew 
rank  and  stalky,  the  paths  were  covered  with  weeds,  but 
there  was  a  slight  feeling  of  spring  in  the  air,  the  bare 
branches  of  the  trees  seemed  swollen  with  the  rising  sap, 
and  upon  the  edge  of  the  terrace  balustrade  a  red-breasted 
robin  cocked  its  mischievous  little  eye  upon  her. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  garden  there  was  a  fine  row  of  ilex, 
with  here  and  there  a  stone  seat,  and  in  the  centre  an  old 
stone  fountain  moss-covered  and  overshadowed  by  the 
hanging  boughs  of  the  huge,  melancholy  trees.  Crystal  was 
very  fond  of  this  avenue;  she  liked  to  sit  and  watch  the 


THE  OLD  REGIME 


63 


play  of  sunshine  upon  the  stone  of  the  fountain :  the  melan- 
choly quietude  of  the  place  suited  her  present  mood.  It 
was  so  strange  to  look  on  these  big  evergreen  trees  and 
on  the  havoc  caused  by  weeds  and  weather  on  the  fine 
carving  of  the  fountain,  and  to  think  of  their  going  on 
here  year  after  year  for  the  past  twenty  years,  while  that, 
hideous  revolution  had  devastated  the  whole  country,  while 
men  had  murdered  each  other,  slaughtered  women  and 
children  and  committed  every  crime  and  every  infamy 
which  lust  of  hate  and  revenge  can  engender  in  the  hearts 
of  men.  The  old  trees  and  the  stone  fountain  had  remained 
peaceful  and  still  the  while,  unscathed  and  undefiled,  grand, 
dignified  and  majestic,  while  the  owner  of  the  fine  chateau 
of  the  gardens  and  the  fountain  and  of  half  the  province 
around  earned  a  precarious  livelihood  in  a  foreign  land, 
half-starved  in  wretchedness  and  exile. 

She,  Crystal,  had  never  seen  them  until  some  ten  months 
ago,  when  her  father  came  back  into  his  own,  and  leading 
his  daughter  by  the  hand,  had  taken  her  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 
tion to  show  her  the  magnificence  of  her  ancestral  home. 
She  had  loved  at  once  the  fine  old  chateau  with  its  lichen- 
covered  walls,  its  fine  portcullis  and  crenelated  towers,  she 
had  wept  over  the  torn  tapestries,  the  broken  furniture, 
the  family  portraits  which  a  rough  and  impious  rabble  had 
wilfully  damaged,  she  had  loved  the  wide  sweep  of  the  ter- 
race walls,  the  views  over  the  Isere  and  across  the  moun- 
tain range  to  the  peaks  of  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  but 
above  all  she  had  loved  this  sombre  row  of  ilex  trees,  the 
broken  fountain,  the  hush  and  peace  which  always  lay  over 
this  secluded  portion  of  the  neglected  garden. 

The  earth  was  moist  and  soft  under  her  feet,  the  cheeky 
robin,  curious  after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  had  followed 
her  and  was  flying  from  seat  to  seat  ahead  of  her  watching 
her  every  movement. 

"Crystal!" 


64  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

At  first  she  thought  that  it  was  the  wind  sighing  through 
the  trees,  so  softly  had  her  name  been  spoken,  so  like  a 
sigh  did  it  seem  as  it  reached  her  ears. 

"Crystal!" 

This  time  she  could  not  be  mistaken,  someone  had  called 
her  name,  someone  was  walking  up  the  avenue  rapidly,  be- 
hind her.  She  would  not  turn  round,  for  she  knew  who 
it  was  that  had  called  and  she  would  not  allow  surprise  to 
resuscitate  the  outward  signs  of  regret.  But  she  stood  quite 
still  while  those  hasty  footsteps  drew  nearer,  and  she  made 
a  great  and  successful  effort  to  keep  back  the  tears  which 
once  more  threatened  to  fill  her  eyes. 

A  minute  later  she  felt  herself  gently  drawn  to  the  near- 
est stone  seat,  and  she  sank  down  upon  it,  still  trying  very 
hard  to  remain  calm  and  above  all  not  to  cry. 

"Oh!  why,  why  did  you  come,  Maurice?"  she  said  at  last, 
when  she  felt  that  she  could  look  with  some  semblance  of 
composure  on  the  half-sitting,  half-kneeling  figure  of  the 
young  man  beside  her.  Despite  her  obstinate  resistance  he 
had  taken  her  hand  in  his  and  was  covering  it  with  kisses. 

"Why  did  you  come,"  she  reiterated  pleadingly,  "you 
must  know  that  it  is  no  use.  .  .  ." 

"I  can't  believe  it.  I  won't  believe  it,"  he  protested  pas- 
sionately. "Crystal,  if  you  really  cared  you  would  not 
send  me  away  from  you." 

"If  I  really  cared?"  she  said  dully.  "Maurice,  sometimes 
I  think  that  if  you  really  cared  you  would  not  make  it  so 
difficult  for  me.  Can't  you  see,"  she  added  more  vehe- 
mently, "that  every  time  you  come  you  make  me  more 
wretched,  and  my  duty  seem  more  hard?  till  sometimes  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  not  bear  it  any  longer — as  if  in  the 
struggle  my  poor  heart  would  suddenly  break." 

"And  because  your  father  is  so  heartless  .  .  ."  he  began 
vehemently. 

"My   father  is   not   heartless,   Maurice,"   she  broke   in 


THE  OLD  REGIME  69 

J 

firmly,  "but  you  must  try  and  see  for  yourself  how  impos- 
sible it  was  for  him  to  give  his  consent  to  our  marriage 
even  if  he  knew  that  my  happiness  was  bounded  by  your 
love.  .  .  .  Just  think  it  over  quietly — if  you  had  a  sister 
who  was  all  the  world  to  you,  would  you  consent  to  such 
a  marriage?  .  .  ." 

"With  a  penniless,  out-at-elbows,  good-for-nothing,  you 
mean?"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  resentful  bitterness.  "No! 
I  dare  say  I  should  not.  Money!"  he  cried  impetuously 
as  he  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  burying  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  breeches  he  began  pacing  the  path  up  and 
down  in  front  of  her.  "Money!  always  money!  Always 
talk  of  duty  and  of  obedience  .  .  .  always  your  father  and 
his  sorrows  and  his  desires  ...  do  I  count  for  nothing, 
then?  Have  I  not  suffered  as  he  has  suffered?  did  I  not  live 
in  exile  as  he  did  ?  Have  I  not  made  sacrifices  for  my  king 
and  for  my  ideals?  Why  should  I  suffer  in  the  future 
as  well  as  in  the  past?  Why,  because  my  king  is  powerless 
or  supine  in  giving  me  back  what  was  filched  from  my 
father,  should  that  be  taken  from  me  which  alone  gives  me 
incentive  to  live  .  .  .  you.  Crystal,"  he  added  as  once 
again  he  knelt  beside  her.  He  encircled  her  shoulders  with 
his  arms,  then  he  seized  her  two  hands  and  covered  them 
with  kisses.  "You  are  all  that  I  want  in  this  world.  After 
all,  we  can  live  in  poverty  ...  we  have  been  brought  up 
in  poverty,  you  and  I  .  .  .  and  even  then  it  is  only  a  ques- 
tion of  a  few  years  .  .  .  months,  perhaps  .  .  .  the  King 
must  give  us  back  what  that  abominable  Revolution  took 
from  us — from  us  who  remained  loyal  to  him  and  because 
we  were;  loyal.  My  father  owned  rich  lands  in  Burgundy 
...  the  King  must  give  those  back  to  me  ...  he  must 
...  he  shall  ...  he  will  ...  if  only  you  will  be  patient, 
Crystal  ...  if  only  you  will  wait.  ..." 

The  fiery  blood  of  his  race  had  rushed  into  Maurice  de 
St.  Genis'  head.     He  was  talking  volubly  and  at  random. 


6G  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

but  he  believed  for  the  moment  everything  that  he  said. 
Tears  of  passion  and  of  fervour  came  to  his  eyes  and  he 
buried  his  head  in  the  folds  of  Crystal's  white  gown  and 
heavy  sobs  shook  his  bent  shoulders.  She,  moved  by  that 
motherly  tenderness  which  is  seldom  absent  from  a  good 
woman's  love,  stroked  with  soothing  fingers  the  matted 
hair  from  his  hot  forehead.  For  a  while  she  remained 
silent  while  the  paroxysm  of  his  passionate  revolt  spent 
itself  in  tears,  then  she  said  quite  softly: 

"I  think,  Maurice,  that  in  your  heart  you  do  us  all  an 
injustice — to  me,  to  father,  to  yourself,  even  to  the  King. 
The  King  cannot  give  you  that  which  is  not  his ;  your  prop- 
erty— like  ours — 'was  confiscated  by  that  awful  revolution- 
ary government  because  your  father  and  mine  followed 
their  king  into  exile.  The  rich  lands  were  sold  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  nation:  the  nation  presumably  has  spent  the 
money,  but  the  people  who  bought  the  lands  in  good  faith 
cannot  be  dispossessed  by  our  King  without  creating  bitter 
ill-feeling  against  himself,  as  you  well  know,  and  once  more 
endangering  his  throne.  Those  are  the  facts,  Maurice, 
against  which  no  hot-blooded  argument,  no  passionate  out- 
bursts can  prevail.  The  King  gave  my  father  back  this  dear 
old  castle,  because  it  happened  to  have  proved  unsaleable, 
and  was  still  on  the  nation's  hands.  Our  rich  lands — like 
yours — can  never  be  restored  to  us :  that  hard  fact  has  been 
driven  into  poor  father's  head  for  the  past  ten  months, 
and  now  it  has  gone  home  at  last.  These  grey  walls,  this 
neglected  garden,  a  few  sticks  of  broken  furniture,  a  hand- 
ful of  money  from  an  over-generous  king's  treasury  is  all 
that  Fate  has  rescued  for  him  from  out  the  ashes  of  the 
past.  My  father  is  every  whit  as  penniless  as  you  are 
yourself,  Maurice,  as  penniless  as  ever  he  was  in  England, 
when  he  gave  French  and  drawing  lessons  to  a  lot  of  young 
ragamuffins  in  a  middle-class  school.  But  Victor  de  Mar- 
mont  is  rich,  and  his  money — once  I  am  his  wife — will  pur- 


THE  OLD  REGIME  CT 

chase  back  all  the  estates  which  have  been  in  our  family 
for  hundreds  of  years.  For  my  father's  sake,  for  the 
sake  of  the  name  which  I  bear,  I  must  give  my  hand  to 
Victor  de  Marmont,  and  pray  to  God  that  some  semblance 
of  peace,  the  sense  of  duty  accomplished,  will  compen- 
sate me  for  the  happiness  to  which  I  shall  bid  good-bye  to- 
day." 

"And  you  are  willing  to  be  sold  to  young  de  Marmont  for 
the  price  of  a  few  acres  of  land!"  retorted  Maurice  de  St. 
Genis  hotly.  "Oh !  it's  monstrous,  Crystal,  monstrous ! 
All  the  more  monstrous  as  you  seem  quite  unconscious  of 
the  iniquity  of  such  a  bargain." 

"Women  of  our  caste,  Maurice,"  she  said  in  her  turn 
with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  "have  often  before  now  been 
sacrificed  for  the  honour  of  their  name.  Men  have  been 
accustomed  to  look  to  them  for  help  when  their  own  means 
of  gilding  their  escutcheons  have  failed." 

"And  you  are  willing,  Crystal,  to  be  sold  like  this?"  he 
insisted. 

"My  father  wishes  me  to  marry  Victor  de  Marmont," 
she  replied  with  calm  dignity,  "and  after  all  that  he  has 
suffered  for  the  honour  and  dignity  of  our  name,  I  should 
deem  myself  craven  and  treacherous  if  I  refused  to  obey 
him  in  this." 

Maurice  de  St.  Genis  once  more  rose  to  his  feet.  All  his 
vehemence,  his  riotous  outbreak  of  rebellion  seemed  to  have 
been  smothered  beneath  a  pall  of  dreary  despair.  His 
young,  good-looking  face  appeared  sombre  and  sullen,  his 
restless,  dark  eyes  wandered  obstinately  from  Crystal's  fair 
bent  head  to  her  stooping  shoulders,  to  her  hands,  to  her 
feet.  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  trying  to  engrave  an  image 
of  her  upon  his  turbulent  brain,  or  that  he  wished  to  force 
her  to  look  on  him  again  before  she  spoke  the  last  words 
of  farewell. 

But  she  wouldn't  look  at  him.     She  kept  her  head  reso- 


68  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

lutely  averted,  looking  far  out  over  the  undulating  lands 
of  Dauphine  and  Savoie  to  where  in  the  far  distant  sky 
the  stately  Alps  reared  their  snow-crowned  heads.  At  last, 
unable  to  bear  her  silence  any  longer,  he  said  dully : 

"Then  it  is  your  last  word,  Crystal?" 

"You  know  that  it  must  be,  Maurice,"  she  murmured  in 
reply.  "My  marriage  contract  will  be  signed  to-night,  and 
on  Tuesday  I  go  to  the  altar  with  Victor  de  Marmont." 

"And  you  mean  to  tear  your  love  for  me  out  of  your 
heart?" 

"Yes!" 

"Were  its  roots  a  little  deeper,  a  little  stronger,  you 
could  not  do  it.  Crystal.  But  they  are  not  so  deep  as  those 
of  your  love  for  your  father." 

She  made  no  reply  .  .  .  perhaps  something  in  her  heart 
told  her  that  after  all  he  might  be  right,  that,  unbeknown 
to  herself  even,  there  were  tendrils  of  affection  in  her  that 
bound  her,  ivylike,  and  so  closely — to  her  father  that  even 
her  girlish  love  for  Maurice  de  St.  Genis — the  first  hint 
of  passion  that  had  stirred  the  smooth  depths  of  her  young 
heart — could  not  tear  her  from  that  bulwark  to  which  she 
clung. 

"This  is  the  last  time  that  I  shall  see  you,  Crystal,"  said 
Maurice  with  a  sigh,  seeing  that  obviously  she  meant  to 
allow  his  taunt  to  pass  unchallenged. 

"You  are  going  away?"  she  asked. 

"How  can  I  stay — here,  under  this  roof,  where  anon — 
in  a  few  hours — ^Victor  de  Marmont  will  have  claims  upon 
you  which,  if  he  exercised  them  before  me  would  make  me 
wish  to  kill  him  or  myself.  I  shall  leave  to-morrow — early 
.  .  ."  he  added  more  quietly. 

"Where  will  you  go?" 

"To  Paris — or  abroad — or  the  devil,  I  don't  know 
which,"  he  replied  moodily. 

"Father  will  be  sorry  if  you  go?"  she  murmured  under 


I 


THE  OLD  REGIME  69 

her  breath,  for  once  again  the  tears  were  very  insistent, 
and  she  felt  an  awful  pain  in  her  heart,  because  of  the 
misery  which  she  had  to  inflict  upon  him. 

"Your  father  has  been  passing  kind  to  me.  He  gave 
me  a  home  when  I  was  homeless,  but  it  is  not  fitting  that 
I  should  trespass  any  longer  upon  his  hospitality." 

"Have  you  made  any  plans?" 

"Not  yet.  But  the  King  will  give  me  a  commission. 
There  will  be  some  fighting  now  .  .  .  there  was  a  rumour 
in  Grenoble  last  night  that  Bonaparte  had  landed  at  An- 
tibes,  and  was  marching  on  Paris." 

"A  false  rumour  as  usual,  I  suppose,"  she  said  indif- 
ferently. 

"Perhaps,"  he  replied. 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  awhile  after  that, 
silence  only  broken  by  the  twitter  of  birds  wakening  to 
the  call  of  spring.  The  word  "good-bye"  remained  un- 
spoken: neither  of  them  dared  to  say  it  lest  it  broke  the 
barrier  of  their  resolve. 

"Will  you  not  go  now,  Maurice?"  said  Crystal  at  last 
m  pitiable  pleading,  "we  only  make  each  other  hopelessly 
wretched,  by  lingering  near  one  another  after  this." 

"Yes,  I  will  go.  Crystal,"  he  replied,  and  this  time  he 
really  forced  his  voice  to  tones  of  gentleness,  although 
his  inward  resentment  still  bubbled  out  with  every  word 
he  spoke,  "I  wish  I  could  have  left  this  house  altogether 
— now — at  once — but  your  father  would  resent  it — and  he 
has  been  so  kind  ...  I  wish  I  could  go  to-day,"  he  re- 
iterated obstinately,  "I  dread  seeing  Victor  de  Marmont 
in  this  house,  where  the  laws  of  chivalry  forbid  my  strik- 
ing him  in  the  face." 

"Maurice!"  she  exclaimed  reproachfully. 

"Nay!  Til  not  say  it  again:  I  have  sufficient  reason 
left  in  me,  I  think,  to  show  these  parvenus  how  we,  of 
the  old  regime,  bear  every  blow  which   fate  chooses  to 


70  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

deal  to  us.  They  have  taken  everything  from  us,  these 
new  men— our  lives,  our  lands,  our  very  means  of  sub- 
sistence— now  they  have  taken  to  filching  our  sweethearts — 
curse  them!  but  at  least  let  us  keep  our  dignity!" 

But  again  she  was  silent.  What  was  there  to  say  that 
had  not  been  said? — save  that  unspoken  word  "good-bye." 
And  he  asked  very  softly: 

"May  I  kiss  you  for  the  last  time,  Crystal?" 

"No,  Maurice,"  she  replied,  "never  again." 

"You  are  still  free,"  he  urged.  "You  are  not  plighted 
to  de  Marmont  yet." 

"No — -not  actually — not  till  to-night.  ..." 

"Then  .  .  .  mayn't  I?" 

"No,  Maurice,"  she  said  decisively. 

"Your  hand  then?" 

"If  you  like."  He  knelt  down  close  to  her;  she  yielded 
her  hand  to  him  and  he  with  his  usual  impulsiveness  covered 
it  with  kisses  into  which  he  tried  to  infuse  the  fervour  of  a 
last  farewell. 

Then  without  another  word  he  rose  to  his  feet  and 
walked  away  with  a  long  and  firm  stride  down  the  ave- 
nue. Crystal  watched  his  retreating  figure  until  the  over- 
hanging branches  of  the  ilex  hid  him  from  her  view. 

She  made  no  attempt  now  to  restrain  her  tears,  they 
flowed  uninterruptedly  down  her  cheeks  and  dropped  hot 
and  searing  upon  her  hands.  With  Maurice's  figure  dis- 
appearing down  the  dark  avenue,  with  the  echo  of  his  foot- 
steps dying  away  in  the  distance,  the  last  chapter  of  her 
first  book  of  romance  seemed  to  be  closing  with  relentless 
finality. 

The  afternoon  sun  was  hidden  behind  a  bank  of  grey 
clouds,  the  northeast  wind  came  whistling  insistently 
through  the  trees : — even  that  feeling  of  spring  in  the 
air  had  vanished.  It  was  just  a  bleak  grey  winter's  day 
now.     Crystal  felt  herself  shivering  with  cold.     She  drew 


THE  OLD  REGIME  71 

her  shawl  more  closely  round  her  shoulders,  then  with 
eyes  still  wet  with  tears,  but  small  head  held  well  erect, 
she  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  rapidly  back  to  the  house- 

III 

Madame  la  Duchesse  had  in  the  meanwhile  followed 
Hector  along  the  corridor  and  down  the  finely  carved  mar- 
ble staircase.  At  a  monumental  door  on  the  ground  floor 
the  man  paused,  his  hand  upon  the  massive  ormolu  handle, 
waiting  for  Madame  la  Duchesse  to  come  up. 

He  felt  a  little  uncomfortable  at  her  approach  for  here 
in  the  big  square  hall  the  light  was  very  clear,  and  he 
could  see  Madame's  keen,  searching  eyes  looking  him  up 
and  down  and  through  and  through.  She  even  put  up  her 
lorgnon  and  though  she  was  not  very  tall,  she  contrived 
to  look  Hector  through  them  straight  between  the  eyes. 

"Is  M.  le  Comte  in  there?"  Madame  la  Duchesse  deigned 
to  ask  as  she  pointed  with  her  lorgnon  to  the  door. 

"In  the  small  library  beyond,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  re- 
plied Hector  stififly. 

"And  .  .  ."  she  queried  with  sharp  sarcasm,  "is  the 
antechamber  very  full  of  courtiers  and  ladies  just  now?" 

A  quick,  almost  imperceptible  blush  spread  over  Hec- 
tor's impassive  countenance,  and  as  quickly  vanished  again. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  he  said  imperturbably,  "is  disengaged 
at  the  present  moment.  He  seldom  receives  visitors  at 
this  hour." 

On  Madame's  mobile  lips  the  sarcastic  curl  became  more 
marked.  "And  I  suppose,  my  good  Hector,"  she  said, 
"that  since  M.  le  Comte  has  only  granted  an  audience  to 
his  sister  to-day,  you  thought  it  was  a  good  opportunity 
for  putting  yourself  at  your  ease  and  wearing  your  patched 
and  mended  clothes,  eh?" 

Once  more  that  sudden  wave  of  colour  swept  over  Hec- 
tor's solemn  old  face.     He  was  evidently  at  a  loss  how  to 


72  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

take  Mme.  la  Duchesse's  remark — ^whether  as  a  rebuke  or 
merely  as  one  of  those  mild  jokes  of  which  every  one 
knew  that  Madame  was  inordinately  fond. 

Something  of  his  dignity  of  attitude  seemed  to  fall  away 
from  him  as  he  vainly  tried  to  solve  this  portentous  prob- 
lem. His  mouth  felt  dry  and  his  head  hot,  and  he  did 
not  know  on  which  foot  he  could  stand  with  the  least 
possible  discomfort,  and  how  he  could  contrive  to  hide 
from  Madame  la  Duchesse's  piercing  eyes  that  very  obvi- 
ous patch  in  the  right  knee  of  his  breeches. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  will  forgive  me,  I  hope,"  he  stam- 
mered painfully. 

But  already  Madame's  kind  old  face  had  shed  its  mask 
of  raillery. 

"Never  mind,  Hector,"  she  said  gently,  "you  are  a  good 
fellow,  and  there's  no  occasion  to  tell  me  lies  about  the 
rich  liveries  which  are  put  away  somewhere,  nor  about 
the  numerous  retinue  and  countless  number  of  flunkeys, 
all  of  whom  are  having  unaccountably  long  holidays  just 
now.  It's  no  use  trying  to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes,  my 
poor  friend,  or  put  on  that  pompous  manner  with  me.  I 
know  that  the  carpets  are  not  all  temporarily  rolled  up  or 
the  best  of  the  furniture  at  a  repairer's  in  Grenoble — 
what's  the  use  of  pretending  with  me,  old  Hector?  Those 
days  at  Worcester  are  not  so  distant  yet,  are  they?  when 
all  the  family  had  to  make  a  meal  off  a  pound  of  sausages, 
or  your  wife  Jeanne,  God  bless  her!  had  to  pawn  her  wed- 
ding-ring to  buy  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  a  second-hand 
overcoat." 

"Madame  la  Duchesse,  I  humbly  pray  your  Grace  .  .  ." 
entreated  Hector  whose  wrinkled,  parchment-like  face  had 
become  the  colour  of  a  peony,  and  who,  torn  between 
the  respect  which  he  had  for  the  great  lady  and  his  horror 
at  what  she  said  was  ready  to  sink  through  the  floor  in 
his  confusion. 


THE  OLD  REGIME  78 

"Eh  what,  man  ?"  retorted  the  Duchesse  lightly,  "there  is 
no  one  but  these  bare  walls  to  hear  me;  and  my  words, 
you'll  find,  will  clear  the  atmosphere  round  you — it  was 
very  stifling,  my  good  Hector,  when  I  arrived.  There 
now!"  she  added,  "announce  me  to  M.  le  Comte  and 
then  go  down  to  Jeanne  and  tell  her  that  I  for  one  have 
no  intention  of  forgetting  Worcester,  or  the  pawned  ring, 
or  the  sausages,  and  that  the  array  of  Grenoble  louts  dressed 
up  for  the  occasion  in  moth-eaten  liveries  dragged  up  out 
of  some  old  chests  do  not  please  me  half  as  much  round 
a  dinner  table  as  did  her  dear  old,  streaming  face  when 
she  used  to  bring  us  the  omelette  straight  out  of  the 
kitchen." 

She  dropped  her  lorgnon,  and  folding  her  aristocratic 
hands  upon  her  bosom,  she  once  more  assumed  the  grand 
manner  pertaining  to  Versailles,  and  Hector  having  swal- 
lowed an  uncomfortable  lump  in  his  throat,  threw  open  the 
huge,  folding  doors  and  announced  in  a  stentorian  voice: 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  douairiere  d'Agen!" 

IV 

M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  was  at  this  time  close  on  sixty 
years  of  age,  and  the  hardships  which  he  had  endured 
for  close  upon  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  left  their  in- 
delible impress  upon  his  wrinkled,  careworn  face. 

But  no  one — least  of  all  a  younger  man — could  pos- 
sibly rival  him  in  dignity  of  bearing  and  gracious  con- 
descension of  manner.  He  wore  his  clothes  after  the  old- 
time  fashion,  and  clung  to  the  powdered  peruque  which 
had  been  the  mode  at  the  Tuileries  and  Versailles  before 
these  vulgar  young  republicans  took  to  wearing  their  own 
hair  in  its  natural  colour. 

Now  as  he  advanced  from  the  inner  room  to  meet  Mme. 
la  Duchesse,  he  seemed  a  perfect  presentation  or  rather 
resuscitation  of  the  courtly  and  vanished  epoch  of  the  Roi 


74  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Soleil.  He  held  himself  very  erect  and  walked  with  meas- 
ured step,  and  a  sterotyped  smile  upon  his  lips.  He  paused 
just  in  front  of  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  then  stopped  and  lightly 
touched  with  his  lips  the  hand  which  she  held  out  to  him. 

"Tell  me,  Monsieur  my  brother,"  said  Madame  in  her 
loudly-pitched  voice,  "do  you  expect  me  to  make  before 
you  my  best  Versailles  curtsey,  for — with  my  rheumatic 
knee — I  warn  you  that  once  I  get  down,  you  might  find 
it  very  difficult  to  get  me  up  on  my  feet  again." 

"Hush,  Sophie,"  admonished  M.  le  Comte  impatiently, 
"you  must  try  and  subdue  your  voice  a  little,  we  are  no 
longer  in  Worcester  remember — " 

But  Madame  only  shrugged  her  thin  shoulders. 

"Bah!"  she  retorted,  "there's  only  good  old  Hector  on 
the  other  side  of  the  door,  and  you  don't  imagine  you 
are  really  throwing  dust  in  his  eyes  do  you?  .  .  .  good  old 
Hector  with  his  threadbare  livery  and  his  ill- fed  belly.  .  .  ." 

"Sophie !"  exclaimed  M.  le  Comte  who  was  really  vexed 
this  time,  "I  must  insist.  .  .  ." 

"All  right,  all  right  my  dear  Andre.  ...  I  won't  say 
anything  more.  Take  me  to  your  audience  chamber  and 
I'll  try  to  behave  like  a  lady." 

A  smile  that  was  distinctly  mischievous  still  hovered 
round  Madame's  lips,  but  she  forced  her  eyes  to  look  grave : 
she  held  out  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  her  brother  and 
allowed  him  to  lead  her  in  the  correct  manner  into  the 
next  room. 

Here  M.  le  Comte  invited  her  to  sit  in  an  upright  chair 
which  was  placed  at  a  convenient  angle  close  to  his  bureau 
while  he  himself  sat  upon  a  stately  throne-like  armchair, 
one  shapely  knee  bent,  the  other  slightly  stretched  forward, 
displaying  the  fine  silk  stocking  and  the  set  of  his  well- 
cut,  satin  breeches.  Mme.  la  Duchesse  kept  her  hands 
folded  in  front  of  her,  and  waited  in  silence  for  her  brother 
to  speak,  but  he  seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  begin,  for  her 


THE  OLD  REGIME  76 

piercing  gaze  was  making  him  feel  very  uncomfortable: 
he  could  not  help  but  detect  in  it  the  twinkle  of  good- 
humoured  sarcasm. 

Madame  of  course  would  not  help  him  out.  She  en- 
joyed his  obvious  embarrassment,  which  took  him  down 
somewhat  from  that  high  altitude  of  dignity  wherein  he 
delighted  to  soar. 

"My  dear  Sophie,"  he  began  at  last,  speaking  very  de- 
liberately and  carefully  choosing  his  words,  "before  the 
step  which  Crystal  is  about  to  take  to-day  becomes  ab- 
solutely irrevocable,  I  desired  to  talk  the  matter  over  with 
you,  since  it  concerns  the  happiness  of  my  only  child." 

"Isn't  it  a  little  late,  my  good  Andre,"  remarked  Madame 
drily,  "to  talk  over  a  question  which  has  been  decided 
a  month  ago  ?  The  contract  is  to  be  signed  to-night.  Our 
present  conversation  might  have  been  held  to  some  purpose 
soon  after  the  New  Year.     It  is  distinctly  useless  to-day." 

At  Madame's  sharp  and  uncompromising  words  a  quick 
blush  had  spread  over  the  Comte's  sunken  cheeks. 

"I  could  not  consult  you  before,  Sophie,"  he  said  coldly, 
"you  chose  to  immure  yourself  in  a  convent,  rather  than 
come  back  straightaway  to  your  old  home  as  we  all  did 
when  our  King  was  restored  to  his  throne.  The  post  has 
been  very  disorganised  and  Boulogne  is  a  far  cry  from 
Brestalou,  but  I  did  write  to  you  as  soon  as  Victor  de 
Marmont  made  his  formal  request  for  Crystal's  hand.  To 
this  letter  I  had  no  reply,  and  I  could  not  keep  him  waiting 
in  indefinite  uncertainty." 

"Your  letter  did  not  reach  me  until  a  month  after  it 
was  written,  as  I  had  the  honour  to  tell  you  in  my  reply." 

"And  that  same  reply  only  reached  me  a  fortnight  ago," 
retorted  the  Comte,  "when  Crystal  had  been  formally  en- 
gaged to  Victor  de  Marmont  for  over  a  month  and  the 
date  for  the  signature  of  the  contract  and  the  wedding- 
dav  had  both  been  fixed.     I  then  sent  a  courier  at  great 


76  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

expense  and  in  great  haste  immediately  to  you,"  he  added 
with  a  tone  of  dignified  reproach,  "I  could  do  no  more." 

"Or  less,"  she  assented  tartly.  "And  here  I  am,  my 
dear  brother,  and  I  am  not  blaming  you  for  delays  in 
the  post.  I  merely  remarked  that  it  was  too  late  now 
to  consult  me  upon  a  marriage  which  is  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  an  accomplished  fact  already." 

"That  is  so  of  course.  But  it  would  be  a  great  personal 
satisfaction  to  me,  my  good  Sophie,  to  hear  your  views 
upon  the  matter.  You  have  brought  Crystal  up  from  baby- 
hood :  in  a  measure,  you  know  her  better  than  even  I — her 
father— do  and  therefore  you  are  better  able  than  I  am 
to  judge  whether  Crystal's  marriage  with  de  Marmont  will 
be  conducive  to  her  permanent  happiness." 

"As  to  that,  my  good  Andre,"  quoth  Madame,  "you  must 
remember  that  when  our  father  and  mother  decided  that  a 
marriage  between  me  and  M.  le  Due  d'Agen  was  desirable, 
my  personal  feelings  and  character  were  never  consulted 
for  a  moment  .  .  .  and  I  suppose  that — taking  life  as  it 
is — I  was  never  particularly  unhappy  as  his  wife." 

"And  what  do  you  adduce  from  those  reminiscences,  my 
dear  Sophie?"   queried  the   Comte   de   Cambray  suavely. 

"That  Victor  de  Marmont  is  not  a  bad  fellow,"  replied 
Madame,  "that  he  is  no  worse  than  was  M.  le  Due  d'Agen 
and  that  therefore  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Crys- 
tal will  be  any  more  unhappy  than  I  was  in  my  time." 

"But  .  .  ." 

"There  is  no  'but'  about  it,  my  good  Andre.  Crystal 
is  a  sweet  girl  and  a  devoted  daughter.  She  will  make 
the  best,  never  you  fear!  of  the  circumstances  into  which 
your  blind  worship  of  your  own  dignity  and  of  your  rank 
have  placed  her." 

"My  good  Sophie,"  broke  in  the  Count  hotly,  "you  talk 
par  Dieu,  as  if  I  was  forcing  my  only  child  into  a  distaste- 
ful marriage." 


THE  OLD  REGIME  77 

"No,  I  do  not  talk  as  if  you  were  forcing  Crystal  into 
a  distasteful  marriage,  but  you  know  quite  well  that  she 
only  accepted  Victor  de  Marmont  because  it  was  your 
wish,  and  because  his  millions  are  going  to  buy  back  the 
old  Cambray  estates,  and  she  is  so  imbued  with  the  sense 
of  her  duty  to  you  and  to  the  family  escutcheon,  that 
she  was  willing  to  sacrifice  every  personal  feeling  in  the 
fulfilment  of  that  duty." 

"By  'personal  feeling'  I  suppose  that  you  mean  St. 
Genis." 

"Well,  yes  ...  I  do,"  said  Madame  laconically. 

"Crystal  was  very  much  in  love  with  him  at  one  time." 

"She  still  is." 

"But  even  you,  my  dear  sister,  must  admit  that  a  mar- 
riage with  St.  Genis  was  out  of  the  question,"  retorted  the 
Count  in  his  turn  with  some  acerbity.  "I  am  very  fond 
of  Maurice  and  his  name  is  as  old  and  great  as  ours, 
but  he  hasn't  a  sou,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  by  now 
that  the  restoration  of  confiscated  lands  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion .  .  .  parliament  will  never  allow  it  and  the  King 
will  never  dare.  .  .  ." 

"I  know  all  that,  my  poor  Andre,"  sighed  Madame  in 
a  more  conciliatory  spirit,  "I  know  moreover  that  you 
yourself  haven't  a  sou  either,  in  spite  of  your  grandeur 
and  your  prejudices.  .  .  .  Money  must  be  got  somehow, 
and  our  ancient  family  'scutcheon  must  be  regilt  at  any 
cost.  I  know  that  we  must  keep  up  this  state  pertaining 
to  the  old  regime,  we  must  have  our  lacqueys  and  our 
liveries,  sycophants  around  us  and  gaping  yokels  on  our 
way  when  we  sally  out  into  the  open.  .  .  .  We  must  blot 
out  from  our  lives  those  twenty  years  spent  in  a  demo- 
cratic and  enlightened  country  where  no  one  is  ashamed 
either  of  poverty  or  of  honest  work — and  above  all  things 
we  must  forget  that  there  has  ever  been  a  revolution  which 
sent  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,  Commander  of  the  Order 


78  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

of  the  Holy  Ghost,  Grand  Cross  of  the  Ordre  du  Lys, 
Seigneur  of  Montfleury  and  St.  Eynard,  hereditary  Grand 
Chamberlain  of  France,  to  teach  French  and  drawing  in 
an  English  Grammar  School.  .  .  ." 

"You  wrong  me  there,  Sophie,  I  wish  to  forget  nothing 
of  the  past  twenty  years." 

"I  thought  that  you  had  given  your  memory  a  holiday." 

*'I  forget  nothing,"  he  reiterated  with  dignified  emphasis, 
"neither  the  squalid  poverty  which  I  endured,  nor  the  bit- 
ter experiences  which  I  gleamed  in  exile." 

"Nor  the  devotion  of  those  who  saved  your  life." 

"And  yours  .  .  ."  he  interposed. 

"And  mine,  at  risk  of  their  own." 

"Perhaps  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  not 
a  day  goes  by  but  Crystal  and  I  speak  of  Sir  Percy  Blake- 
ney,  and  of  his  gallant  League  of  the  Scarlet  Pimpernel." 

"Well!  we  owe  our  lives  to  them,"  said  Madame  with 
deep-drawn  sigh.  "I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  see  any  of 
those  fine  fellows  again!" 

"God  only  knows,"  sighed  M.  le  Comte  in  response. 
"But,"  he  continued  more  lightly,  "as  you  know  the  League 
itself  has  ceased  to  be.  We  saw  very  little  of  Sir  Percy 
and  Lady  Blakeney  latterly  for  we  were  too  poor  ever 
to  travel  up  to  London.  Crystal  and  I  saw  them,  before 
we  left  England,  and  I  then  had  the  opportunity  of  thank- 
ing Sir  Percy  Blakeney  for  the  last  time,  for  the  many 
valuable  French  lives  which  his  plucky  little  League  had 
saved." 

"He  is  indeed  a  gallant  gentleman,"  said  Mme.  la 
Duchesse  gently,  even  whilst  her  bright,  shrewd  eyes  gazed 
straight  out  before  her  as  if  on  the  great  bare  walls  of 
her  own  ancestral  home,  the  ghostly  hand  of  memory  had 
conjured  up  pictures  of  long  ago : — her  own,  her  husband's 
and  her  brother's  arrest  here  in  this  very  room,  the  weep- 
ing  servants,   the    rough,    half-naked    soldiery— then   the 


THE  OLD  REGIIME  79 

agony  of  a  nine  days'  imprisonment  in  a  dark,  dank  prison- 
cell  filled  to  overflowing  with  poor  wretches  in  the  same 
pitiable  plight  as  herself — the  hasty  trial,  the  insults,  the 
mockery : — ^her  husband's  death  in  prison  and  her  own 
thoughts  of  approaching  death! 

Then  the  gallant  deed! — ^after  all  these  years  she  could 
still  see  herself,  her  brother  and  Jeanne,  her  faithful  maid, 
and  poor  devoted  Hector  all  huddled  up  in  a  rickety 
tumbril,  being  dragged  through  the  streets  of  Paris  on 
the  road  to  death.  On  ahead  she  had  seen  the  weird  out- 
line of  the  guillotine  silhouetted  against  the  evening  sky, 
whilst  all  around  her  a  howling,  jeering  mob  sang  that 
awful  refrain:   "Ca  ira!  Ca  ira!  les  aristos  a  la  lanteme!" 

Then  it  was  that  she  had  felt  unseen  hands  snatching  her 
out  of  the  tumbril,  she  had  felt  herself  being  dragged 
through  that  yelling  crowd  to  a  place  where  there  was 
silence  and  darkness  and  where  she  knew  that  she  was  safe : 
thence  she  was  conveyed — she  hardly  realised  how — to  Eng- 
land, where  she  and  her  brother  and  Jeanne  and  Hector, 
their  faithful  servants,  had  found  refuge  for  over  twenty 
years. 

"It  was  a  gallant  deed!"  whispered  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
once  again,  "and  one  which  will  always  make  me  love 
every  Englishman  I  meet,  for  the  sake  of  one  who  was 
called  The  Scarlet  •  Pimpernel." 

"Then  why  should  you  attribute  vulgar  ingratitude  to 
me?"  retorted  the  Comte  reproachfully.  "My  feelings  I 
imagine  are  as  sensitive  as  your  own.  Am  I  not  trying 
my  best  to  be  kind  to  that  Mr.  Clyffurde,  who  is  an  honoured 
guest  in  my  house — just  because  it  was  Sir  Percy  Blakeney 
who  recommended  him  to  me?" 

"It  can't  be  very  difficult  to  be  kind  to  such  an  attrac- 
tive young  man,"  was  Mme.  la  Duchesse's  dry  comment. 
"Recommendation  or  no  recommendation  I  liked  your  Mr. 
Clyffurde  and  if  it  were  not  so  late  in  the  day  and  there 


80  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

was  still  time  to  give  my  opinion,  I  should  suggest  that 
Mr.  Clyffurde's  money  could  quite  well  regild  our  family 
'scutcheon.     He  is  very  rich  too,  I  understand." 

"My  good  Sophie!"  exclaimed  the  Comte  in  horror, 
"what  can  you  be  thinking  of?" 

"Crystal  principally,"  replied  the  Duchesse.  "I  thought 
Clyfifurde  a  far  nicer  fellow  than  de  Marmont." 

"My  dear  sister,"  said  the  Comte  stiffly,  "I  really  must 
ask  you  to  think  sometimes  before  you  speak.  Of  a  truth 
you  make  suggestions  and  comments  at  times  which  literally 
stagger  one." 

"I  don't  see  anything  so  very  staggering  in  the  idea  of 
a  penniless  aristocrat  marrying  a  wealthy  English  gen- 
tleman. .  .  ." 

"A  gentleman!  my  dear!"  exclaimed  the  Comte. 

"Well !  Mr.  Clyflfurde  is  a  gentleman,  isn't  he  ?" 

"His  family  is  irreproachable,  I  believe." 

"Well  then?" 

"But  .  .  .  Mr.  Clyffurde  .  .  .  you  know,  my  dear.  .  .  ." 

"No!  I  don't  know,"  said  Madame  decisively.  "What  is 
the  matter  with  Mr.  Clyffurde?" 

"Well!  I  didn't  like  to  tell  you,  Sophie,  immediately  on 
your  arrival  yesterday,"  said  the  Comte,  who  was  making 
visible  efforts  to  mitigate  the  horror  of  what  he  was  about 
to  say :  "but  ...  as  a  matter  of  fact  .  .  .  this  Mr.  Clyf- 
furde whom  you  met  in  my  house  last  night  .  .  .  who  sat 
next  to  you  at  my  table  .  .  .  with  whom  you  had  that 
long  and  animated  conversation  afterwards  ...  is  noth- 
ing better  than  a  shopkeeper !" 

No  doubt  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  expected  that  at 
this  awful  announcement,  Mme.  la  Duchesse's  indignation 
and  anger  would  know  no  bounds.  He  was  quite  ready 
even  now  with  a  string  of  apologies  which  he  would  formu- 
late directly  she  allowed  him  to  speak.  He  certainly  felt 
very  guilty  towards  her  for  the  undesirable  acquaintance 


THE  OLD  REGIME  81 

which  she  had  made  in  her  brother's  own  house.  Great 
was  his  surprise  therefore  when  Madame's  wrinkled  face 
wreathed  itself  into  a  huge  smile,  which  presently  broad- 
ened into  a  merry  laugh,  as  she  threw  back  her  head,  and 
said  still  laughing: 

"A  shopkeeper,  my  dear  Comte?  A  shopkeeper  at  your 
aristocratic  table ?  and  your  meal  did  not  choke  you?  Why ! 
God  forgive  you,  but  I  do  believe  you  are  actually  becom- 
ing human." 

"I  ought  to  have  told  you  sooner,  of  course,"  began 
the  Comte  stiffly. 

"Why  bless  your  heart,  I  knew  it  soon  enough." 

"You  knew  it?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  Mr.  Clyfifurde  told  me  that  interesting 
fact  before  he  had  finished  eating  his  soup." 

"Did  he  tell  you  that  .  .  .  that  he  traded  in  ...  in 
gloves  ?" 

"Well!  and  why  not  gloves?"  she  retorted.  "Gloves 
are  very  nice  things  and  better  manufactured  at  Grenoble 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  The  English  coquettes 
are  very  wise  in  getting  their  gloves  from  Grenoble 
through  the  good  offices  of  Mr.  Clyfifurde." 

"But,  my  dear  Sophie  .  .  .  Mr.  Clyfifurde  buys  gloves 
here  from  Dumoulin  and  sells  them  again  to  a  shop  in 
London  ...  he  buys  and  sells  other  things  too  and  he  does 
it  for  profit.  .  .  ." 

"Of  course  he  does.  .  .  .  You  don't  suppose  that  any 
one  would  do  that  sort  of  thing  for  pleasure,  do  you? 
Mr.  Clyfifurde,"  continued  Madame  with  sudden  seriousness, 
"lost  his  father  when  he  was  six  years  old.  His  mother 
and  four  sisters  had  next  to  nothing  to  live  on  after  the 
bulk  of  what  they  had  went  for  the  education  of  the  boy. 
At  eighteen  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  provide 
his  mother  and  sisters  with  all  the  luxuries  which  they  had 
lacked  for  so  long  and  instead  of  going  into  the  army — 


82  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

which  had  been  the  burning  ambition  of  his  boyhood — he 
went  into  business  .  .  .  and  in  less  than  ten  years  has  made 
a  fortune." 

"You  seem  to  have  learnt  a  great  deal  of  the  man's 
family  history  in  so  short  a  time." 

"I  liked  him:  and  I  made  him  talk  to  me  about  him- 
self. It  was  not  easy,  for  these  English  men  are  stupidly 
reticent,  but  I  dragged  his  story  out  of  him  bit  by  bit — 
or  at  least  as  much  of  it  as  I  could — and  I  can  tell  you, 
my  good  Andre,  that  never  have  I  admired  a  man  so  much 
as  I  do  this  Mr.  Clyffurde  .  .  .  for  never  have  I  met  so 
unselfish  a  one.  I  declare  that  if  I  were  only  a  few  years 
younger,"  she  continued  whimsically,  "and  even  so  .  .  . 
heigh!  but  I  am  not  so  old  after  all.  .  .  ." 

"My  dear  Sophie !"  ejaculated  the  Comte. 

"Eh,  what?"  she  retorted  tartly,  "you  would  object 
to  a  tradesman  as  a  brother-in-law,  would  you?  What 
about  a  de  Marmont  for  a  son?    Eh?" 

"Victor  de  Marmont  is  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  our 
legitimate  King,    His  uncle  the  Due  de  Raguse.  .  .  ." 

"That's  just  it,"  broke  in  Madame  again,  "I  don't  like 
de  Marmont  because  he  is  a  de  Marmont." 

"Is  that  the  only  reason  for  your  not  liking  him?" 

"The  only  one,"  she  replied.  "But  I  must  say  that 
this  Mr.  Clyffurde  .  .  ." 

"You  must  not  harp  on  that  string,  Sophie,"  said  the 
Comte  sternly.  "It  is  too  ridiculous.  To  begin  with  Clyf- 
furde never  cared  for  Crystal,  and,  secondly,  Crystal  was 
already  engaged  to  de  Marmont  when  Clyffurde  arrived 
here,  and,  thirdly,  let  me  tell  you  that  my  daughter  has  far 
too  much  pride  in  her  ever  to  think  of  a  shopkeeper  in 
the  light  of  a  husband  even  if  he  had  ten  times  this  Mr. 
Qyffurde's  fortune." 

"Then  everything  is  comfortably  settled,  Andre.  And 
now  that  we  have  returned  to  our  sheep,  and  have  both 


THE  OLD  REGIME  8S 

arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  nothing  stands  in  the  way 
of  Crystal's  marriage  with  Victor  de  Marmont,  I  suppose 
that  I  may  presume  that  my  audience  is  at  an  end." 

"I  only  wished  to  hear  your  opinion,  my  good  Sophie," 
rejoined  M.  le  Comte.     And  he  rose  stiffly  from  his  chair. 

"Well!  and  you  have  heard  it,  Andre,"  concluded  IMa- 
dame  as  she  too  rose  and  gathered  her  lace  shawl  round 
her  shoulders.  "You  may  thank  God,  my  dear  brother, 
that  you  have  in  Crystal  such  an  unselfish  and  obedient 
child,  and  in  me  such  a  submissive  sister.  Frankly — since 
you  have  chosen  to  ask  my  opinion  at  this  eleventh  hour 
— I  don't  like  this  de  Marmont  marriage,  though  I  have 
admitted  that  I  see  nothing  against  the  young  man  himself. 
If  Crystal  is  not  unhappy  with  him,  I  shall  be  content: 
if  she  is,  I  will  make  myself  exceedingly  disagreeable, 
both  to  him  and  to  you,  and  that  being  my  last  word,  I 
have  the  honour  to  wish  you  a  polite  'good-day.'  " 

She  swept  her  brother  an  imperceptibly  ironical  curtsey, 
but  he  detained  her  once  again,  as  she  turned  to  go. 

"One  word  more,  Sophie,"  he  said  solemnly.  "You 
will  be  amiable  with  Victor  de  Marmont  this  evening?" 

"Of  course  I  will,"  she  replied  tartly.  "Ah,  ga,  Mon- 
sieur my  brother,  do  you  take  me  for  a  washerwoman?" 

"I  am  entertaining  the  prefet  for  the  souper  du  contrat," 
continued  the  Comte,  quietly  ignoring  the  old  lady's  irasci- 
bility of  temper,  "and  the  general  in  command  of  the  gar- 
rison.    They  are  both  converted  Bonapartists,  remember." 

"Hm!"  grunted  Madame  crossly,  "whom  else  are  you 
going  to  entertain?" 

"Mme.  Fourier,  the  prefet's  wife,  and  Mile.  Marchand, 
the  general's  daughter,  and  of  course  the  d'Embruns  and 
the  Genevois." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Some  half  dozen  or  so  notabilities  of  Grenoble.  We 
shall  sit  down  twenty  to  supper,   and  afterwards  I  hold 


«4  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

a  reception  in  honour  of  the  coming  marriage  of  Mile,  de 
Cambray  de  Brestalou  with  M.  Victor  de  Marmont.  One 
must  do  one's  duty.  .  .  ." 

"And  pander  to  one's  love  of  playing  at  being  a  little 
king  in  a  limited  way.  .  .  .  All  right!  I  won't  say  any- 
thing more.  I  promise  that  I  won't  disgrace  you,  and 
that  I'll  put  on  a  grand  manner  that  will  fill  those  worthy 
notabilities  and  their  wives  with  awe  and  reverence.  And 
now,  I'd  best  go,"  she  added  whimsically,  "ere  my  good 
resolutions  break  down  before  your  pomposity  ...  I  sup- 
pose the  louts  from  the  village  will  be  again  braced  up 
in  those  moth-eaten  liveries,  and  the  bottles  of  thin  Medoc 
purchased  surreptitiously  at  a  local  grocer's  will  be  duly 
smothered  in  the  dust  of  ages.  .  .  .  All  right!  all  right! 
I'm  going.  For  gracious'  sake  don't  conduct  me  to  the 
door,  or  I'll  really  disgrace  you  under  Hector's  uplifted 
nose.  .  .  .  Oh!  shades  of  cold  beef  and  treacle  pies  of 
Worcester  .  .  .  and  washing-day  ...  do  you  remember? 
...  all  right !  all  right,  Monsieur  my  brother,  I  am  dumb 
as  a  carp  at  last." 

And  with  a  final  outburst  of  sarcastic  laughter,  Madame 
finally  sailed  across  the  room,  while  Monsieur  fell  back 
into  his  throne-like  chair  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR 


But  even  as  Madame  la  Duchesse  douairiere  d'Agen  placed 
her  aristocratic  hand  upon  the  handle  of  the  door,  it  was 
opened  from  without  with  what  might  almost  be  called 
undue  haste,  and  Hector  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

Hector  in  truth!  but  not  the  sober- faced,  pompous,  dig- 
nified Hector  of  the  household  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray, 
but  a  red-visaged,  excited,  fussy  Hector,  who  for  the  mo- 
ment seemed  to  have  forgotten  where  he  was,  as  well  as 
the  etiquette  which  surrounded  the  august  personality  of 
his  master.  He  certainly  contrived  to  murmur  a  humble  if 
somewhat  hasty  apology,  when  he  found  himself  confronted 
at  the  door  by  Mme.  la  Duchesse  herself,  but  he  did  not 
stand  aside  to  let  her  pass. 

She  had  stepped  back  into  the  room  at  sight  of  him,  for 
obviously  something  very  much  amiss  must  have  occurred 
thus  to  ruffle  Hector's  ingrained  dignity,  and  even  M.  le 
Comte  was  involuntarily  dragged  out  of  his  aristocratic 
aloofness  and  almost — though  not  quite — ^jumped  up  from 
his  chair. 

"What  is  it,  Hector?"  he  exclaimed,  peremptorily. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  gasped  Hector,  who  seemed  to  be  out 
of  breath  from  sheer  excitement,  "the  Corsican  ...  he  has 
come  back  ...  he  is  marching  on  Grenoble  .  .  .  M.  le 
prefet  is  here!  .  .  ." 

But  already  M.  le  Comte  had — with  a  wave  of  the  hand 
as  it  were — swept  the  unwelcome  news  aside. 

85 


86  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"What  rubbish  is  this?"  he  said  wrathfully.  "You  have 
been  dreaming  in  broad  daylight,  Hector  .  .  .  and  this 
excitement  is  most  unseemly.  Show  Mme.  la  Duchesse  to 
her  apartments,"  he  added  with  a  great  show  of  calm. 

Hector — thus  reproved,  coloured  a  yet  more  violent  crim- 
son to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair.  He  made  a  great  effort 
to  recover  his  pomposity  and  actually  took  up  the  correct 
attitude  which  a  well-trained  servant  assumes  when  he 
shows  a  great  lady  out  of  a  room.  But  even  then — despite 
the  well-merited  reproof — he  took  it  upon  himself  to  insist : 

"M.  le  prefet  is  here,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  said,  "and  begs 
to  be  received  at  once." 

"Well,  then,  you  may  show  him  up  when  Mme.  la 
Duchesse  has  retired,"  said  the  Comte  with  quiet  dignity. 

"By  your  leave,  my  brother,"  quoth  the  Duchesse  de- 
cisively, "I'll  wait  and  hear  what  M.  le  prefet  has  to  say. 
The  news — if  news  there  be — is  too  interesting  to  be  kept 
waiting  for  me." 

And  accustomed  as  she  was  to  get  her  own  way  in 
everything,  Mme.  la  Duchesse  calmly  sailed  back  into  the 
room,  and  once  more  sat  down  in  the  chair  beside  her 
brother's  bureau,  whilst  Hector  with  as  much  grandeur  of 
mien  as  he  could  assume  under  the  circumstances  was  still 
waiting  for  orders. 

M.  le  Comte  would  undoubtedly  have  preferred  that 
his  sister  should  leave  the  room  before  the  prefet  was 
shown  in:  he  did  not  approve  of  women  taking  part  in 
political  conversations,  and  his  manner  now  plainly  showed 
to  Mme.  la  Duchesse  that  he  would  like  to  receive  M.  le 
prefet  alone.  But  he  said  nothing — probably  because  he 
knew  that  words  would  be  useless  if  Madame  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  remain,  which  she  evidently  had,  so,  after  a 
brief  pause,  he  said  curtly  to  Hector: 

"Show  M.  le  prefet  in." 

He  took  up  his  favourite  position  in  his  throne-shaped 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR     87 

chair — one  leg  bent,  the  other  stretched  out,  displaying 
to  advantage  the  shapely  calf  and  well-shod  foot.  M.  le 
prefet  Fourier,  mathematician  of  great  renown,  and  mem- 
ber of  the  Institut  was  one  of  those  converted  Bonapartists 
to  whom  it  behoved  at  all  times  to  teach  a  lesson  of  de- 
corum and  dignity. 

And  certainly  when,  presently  Hector  showed  M,  Fourier 
in,  the  two  men — the  aristocrat  of  the  old  regime  and 
the  bureaucrat  of  the  new — presented  a  marked  and  curi- 
ous contrast.  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  calm,  unperturbed, 
slightly  supercilious,  in  a  studied  attitude  and  moving  with 
pompous  deliberation  to  greet  his  guest,  and  Jacques 
Fourier,  man  of  science  and  prefet  of  the  Isere  depart- 
ment, short  of  stature,  scant  of  breath,  flurried  and  florid! 

Both  men  were  conscious  of  the  contrast,  and  M.  Fourier 
did  his  very  best  to  approach  Mme.  la  Duchesse  with  a 
semblance  of  dignity,  and  to  kiss  her  hand  in  something 
of  the  approved  courtly  manner.  When  he  had  finally  sat 
down,  and  mopped  his  streaming  forehead,  M.  le  Comte 
said  w^ith  kindly  condescension: 

"You  are  perturbed,  my  good  M.  Fourier!" 

"Alas,  M.  le  Comte,"  replied  the  worthy  prefet,  still 
somewhat  out  of  breath,  "how  can  I  help  being  agitated 
.  .  .  this  awful  news!  .  .  ." 

"What  news?"  queried  the  Comte  with  a  lifting  of  the 
brows,  which  was  meant  to  convey  complete  detachment 
and  indifference  to  the  subject  matter. 

"What  news?"  exclaimed  the  prefet  who,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  unable  to  contain  his  agitation  and  had  obviously 
given  up  the  attempt,  "haven't  you  heard?  .  .  ." 

"No,"  replied  the  Comte. 

And  Madame  also  shook  her  head. 

"Town-gossip  does  not  travel  as  far  as  the  Castle  of 
Brestalou,"  added  M.  le  Comte  gravely. 

"Town  gossip!"  reiterated  M.  Fourier,  who  seemed  to 


88  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

be  calling  Heaven  to  witness  this  extraordinary  levity, 
"town  gossip,  M.  le  Comte!  .  .  .  But  God  in  Heaven  help 
us  all.  Bonaparte  landed  at  Antibes  five  days  ago.  He 
was  at  Sisteron  this  morning,  and  unless  the  earth  opens 
and  swallows  him  up,  he  will  be  on  us  by  Tuesday!" 

"Bah!  you  have  had  a  nightmare,  M.  le  prefet,"  re- 
joined the  Comte  drily.  "We  have  had  news  of  the  landing 
of  Bonaparte  at  least  once  a  month  this  half-year  past." 

"But  it  is  authentic  news  this  time,  M.  le  Comte,"  re- 
torted Fourier,  who,  gradually,  under  the  influence  of  de 
Cambray's  calm  demeanour,  had  succeeded  in  keeping  his 
agitation  in  check.  "The  prefet  of  the  Var  department, 
M.  le  Comte  de  Bouthillier,  sent  an  express  courier  on 
Thursday  last  to  the  prefet  of  the  Basses-Alpes,  who  sent 
that  courier  straight  on  to  me,  telling  me  that  he  and 
General  Lx)verdo,  who  is  in  command  of  the  troops  in 
that  district,  promptly  evacuated  Digue  because  they  were 
not  certain  of  the  loyalty  of  the  garrison.  The  Corsican 
it  seems  only  landed  with  about  a  thousand  of  his  old  guard, 
but  since  then,  the  troops  in  every  district  which  he  has 
traversed,  have  deserted  in  a  body,  and  rallied  round  his 
standard.  It  has  been,  so  I  hear,  a  triumphal  march  for 
him  from  the  Littoral  to  Digne,  and  altogether  the  news 
which  the  courier  brought  me  this  morning  was  of  such 
alarming  nature,  that  I  thought  it  my  duty,  M.  le  Comte, 
to  apprise  you  of  it  immediately." 

"That,"  said  M.  le  Comte  condescendingly,  "was  ex- 
ceedingly thoughtful  and  considerate,  my  good  M.  Fourier. 
And  what  is  the  alarming  news?" 

"Firstly,  that  Bonaparte  made  something  like  a  state 
entry  into  Digne  yesterday.  The  city  was  beflagged  and 
decorated.  The  national  guard  turned  out  and  presented 
arms,  drums  were  beating,  the  population  acclaimed  him 
with  cries  of  'Vive  I'Empereur !'  The  prefet  and  the  gen- 
eral in  command  had  intended  to  resist  his  entry  into  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  89 

city,  but  all  the  notabilities  of  the  town  forced  them  into 
submission.  Duval,  the  prefet,  fled  to  a  neighbouring  vil- 
lage, taking  the  public  funds  with  him,  while  General 
Loverdo  with  a  mere  handful  of  loyal  troops  has  retreated 
on  Sisteron." 

Though  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  had  listened  to  the 
prefet's  narrative  with  all  his  habitual  grandeur  of  mien, 
it  soon  became  obvious  that  some  of  his  aristocratic  sang- 
froid had  already  abandoned  him.  His  furrowed  cheeks 
had  become  a  shade  paler  than  usual,  and  the  slender  hand 
which  toyed  with  an  ivory  paper-knife  on  his  desk  had  not 
its  wonted  steadiness.  Mme.  la  Duchesse  perceived  this, 
no  doubt,  for  her  keen  eyes  were  fixed  scrutinisingly  upon 
her  brother;  she  saw  too  that  his  thin  lips  were  quivering 
and  that  the  reason  why  he  made  no  comment  on  what 
he  had  just  heard  was  because  he  could  not  quite  trust 
himself  to  speak.  It  was  she,  therefore,  who  now  re- 
marked quietly : 

"And  in  your  department,  M.  le  prefet,  in  Grenoble 
itself,  is  the  garrison  equally  likely  to  go  over  to  the  Cor- 
sican  brigand  ?" 

M.  Fourier  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was  not  at  all 
sure. 

"After  what  has  happened  at  Digne,  Mme.  la  Duchesse," 
he  said,  "I  would  not  care  to  prophesy.  General  Marchand 
does  not  intend  to  trust  entirely  to  the  garrison.  He  has 
sent  to  Vienne  and  to  Chambery  for  reinforcements  .  .  . 
but  .  .  ." 

The  prefet  was  hesitating,  evidently  he  had  not  a  great 
deal  of  faith  in  the  loyalty  of  those  reinforcements  either. 

M.  le  Comte  made  a  vigorous  protest.  "Surely,  M. 
Fourier,"  he  said,  "you  don't  mean  to  suggest  that  Gre- 
noble is  going  to  turn  traitor  to  the  King?" 

But  M.  le  prefet  apparently  had  meant  to  suggest  it. 

"Alas,  M.  le  Comte!"  he  said,  "we  must  always  bear 


90  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

in  mind  that  the  whole  of  the  Dauphine  has  remained 
throughout  a  bed  of  Bonapartism." 

"But  in  that  case  .  .  ."  ejaculated  the  Comte. 

"General  Marchand  is  doing  all  he  can  to  ensure  effectual 
resistance,  M.  le  Comte.  But  we  are  in  the  hands  of  the 
army,  and  the  army  has  never  been  truly  loyal  to  the  King. 
At  the  bottom  of  every  soldier's  haversack  there  is  an  old 
and  worn  tricolour  cockade,  which  is  there  ready  to  be 
fetched  out  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  will  be  fetched  out 
at  the  mere  sound  of  the  Corsican's  voice.  We  are  in 
the  hands  of  the  army,  M.  le  Comte,  and  in  the  Dauphine; 
alas!  the  army  is  only  too  ready  to  cry:  'Vive  I'Em- 
pereur !' " 

There  was  silence  in  the  stately  room  now,  silence  only 
broken  by  the  tap-tap  of  the  ivory  paper-knife  with  which 
M.  le  Comte  was  still  nervously  fidgeting.  M.  Fourier 
was  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  overheated  brow. 

"For  God's  sake,  Andre,  stop  that  irritating  noise,"  said 
Mme.  Duchesse  after  awhile,  "that  tapping  has  got  on  my 
nerves." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sophie,"  said  the  Comte  loftily. 

He  was  offended  with  her  for  drawing  M.  Fourier's 
attention  to  his  own  nervous  restlessness,  yet  grateful  to 
be  thus  forcibly  made  aware  of  it  himself.  His  attitude 
was  on  the  verge  of  incorrectness.  Where  was  the 
aristocratic  sangfroid  which  should  have  made  him 
proof  even  against  so  much  perturbing  news?  What  had 
become  of  the  lesson  in  decorum  which  should  have  been 
taught  to  this  vulgar  little  bureaucrat? 

M.  le  Comte  pulled  himself  together  with  a  jerk:  he 
straightened  out  his  spare  figure,  put  on  that  air  of  de- 
tachment which  became  him  so  well,  and  finally  turned 
once  more  to  the  prefet  a  perfectly  calm  and  unruffled 
countenance. 

Then  he  said  with  his  accustomed  urbanity: 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  91 

"And  now,  my  good  M.  Fourier,  since  you  have  so  ad- 
mirably put  the  situation  before  me,  will  you  also  tell  me 
in  what  way  I  may  be  of  service  to  you  in  this — or  to 
General  Marchand?" 

"I  am  coming  to  that,  M.  le  Comte,"  replied  the  prefet 
"It  will  explain  the  reason  of  my  disturbing  you  at  this 
hour,  when  I  was  coming  anyhow  to  partake  of  your 
gracious  hospitality  later  on.  But  I  do  want  your  as- 
sistance, M.  le  Comte,  as  the  matter  of  which  I  wish  to 
speak  with  you  concerns  the  King  himself." 

"Everything  that  you  have  told  me  hitherto,  my  good 
M.  Fourier,  concerns  His  Majesty  and  the  security  of  his 
throne.  I  cannot  help  wondering  how  much  of  this  news 
has  reached  him  by  now," 

"All  of  it  at  this  hour,  I  should  say.  For  already  on 
Friday  the  Prince  d'Essling  sent  a  despatch  to  His  Majesty 
— by  courier  as  far  as  Lyons  and  thence  by  aerial  telegraph 
to  Paris.  The  King — may  God  preserve  him!"  added  the 
ex-Bonapartist  fervently,  "knows  as  much  of  the  Corsican's 
movements  at  the  present  moment  as  we  do ;  and  God  alone 
knows  what  he  will  decide  to  do." 

"Whatever  happens,"  interjected  the  Comte  de  Cambray 
solemnly,  "Louis  de  Bourbon,  XVHIth  of  his  name,  by  the 
Grace  of  God,  will  act  like  a  king  and  a  gentleman." 

"Amen  to  that,"  retorted  the  prefet.  "And  now  let  me 
come  to  my  point,  M.  le  Comte,  and  the  chief  object  of 
my  visit  to  you." 

"I  am  at  your  service,  my  dear  M.  Fourier." 

"You  will  remember,  M.  le  Comte,  that  directly  you 
were  installed  at  Brestalou  and  I  was  confirmed  in  my  po- 
sition as  prefet  of  this  department,  I  thought  it  was  my 
duty  to  tell  you  of  the  secret  funds  which  are  kept  in 
the  cellars  of  our  Hotel  de  Ville  by  order  of  M.  de  Talley- 
rand." 

"Yes,   of   course   I   remember  that  perfectly.      French 


92  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

money,  which  the  unfortunate  wife  of  that  brigand  Bona- 
parte was  taking  out  of  the  country." 

"Quite  so,"  assented  Fourier.  "The  funds  are  in  a  con- 
venient and  portable  form,  being  chiefly  notes  and  bankers' 
drafts  to  bearer,  but  the  amount  is  considerable,  namely, 
twenty-five  millions  of  francs." 

"A  comfortable  sum,"  interposed  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
drily.  "I  did  not  know  that  Grenoble  sheltered  so  vast  a 
treasure." 

"The  money  was  seized,"  said  the  Comte,  "from  Marie 
Louise  when  she  was  fleeing  the  country.  Talleyrand  did 
it  all,  and  it  was  his  idea  to  keep  the  money  in  this  part 
of  the  country  against  likely  emergencies." 

"But  the  emergency  has  arisen,"  exclaimed  M.  Fourier 
excitedly,  "and  the  money  at  Grenoble  is  useless  to  His 
Majesty  in  Paris.  Nay!  it  is  worse  than  useless,  it  is  in 
danger  of  spoliation,"  he  added  with  unconscious  naivete. 
"If  the  Corsican  marches  into  Grenoble,  if  the  garrison 
and  the  townspeople  rally  to  him,  he  will  of  a  truth  occupy 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  the  brigand  will  seize  the  King's 
treasure  which  lies  now  in  one  of  its  cellars." 

"True,"  mused  the  Comte,  "I  hadn't  thought  of 
that" 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Madame  with  light  sarcasm,  "seeing 
that  the  money  was  originally  taken  from  his  wife,  the 
brigand  will  not  be  committing  an  altogether  unlikely  act, 
I  imagine,  by  taking  what  was  originally  his." 

"His,  my  good  Sophie?"  exclaimed  the  Comte,  highly 
shocked.  "Money  robbed  by  that  usurper  from  France — 
his?" 

"We  won't  argue,  Andre,"  said  Madame  sharply,  "let 
us  hear  what  M.  le  prefet  proposes." 

"Propose,  Mme.  la  Duchesse,"  ejaculated  the  unfortunate 
prefet,  "I  have  nothing  to  propose!  I  am  at  my  wits* 
end  what  to  do !    I  came  to  M.  le  Comte  for  advice." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR     93 

"And  you  were  quite  right,  my  dear  M.  Fourier,"  said 
the  Comte  affably. 

He  paused  for  a  few  seconds  in  order  to  collect  his 
thoughts,  then  continued :  "Now  let  us  consider  this  ques- 
tion from  every  side,  and  then  see  to  what  conclusion 
we  can  arrive  that  will  be  for  the  best.  Firstly,  of  course, 
there  is  the  possibihty  of  your  following  the  example 
of  the  prefet  of  the  Basses-Alpes  and  taking  yourself  and 
the  money  to  a  convenient  place  outside  Grenoble." 

But  at  this  suggestion  M.  Fourier  was  ready  to  burst 
into  tears. 

"Impossible,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  cried  pitiably,  "I  could 
not  do  it.  .  .  .  Where  could  I  go?  .  .  .  The  existence  of 
the  money  is  known  .  .  .  known  to  the  Bonapartists,  I 
am  convinced.  .  .  .  There's  Dumoulin,  the  glovemaker,  he 
knows  everything  that  goes  on  in  Grenoble  .  .  .  and  his 
friend  Emery,  who  is  an  army  surgeon  in  the  pay  of  Bona- 
parte .  .  .  both  these  men  have  been  to  and  from  Elba  in- 
cessantly these  past  few  months  .  .  .  then  there's  the 
Bonapartist  club  in  Grenoble  .  .  .  with  a  membership  of 
over  two  thousand  .  .  .  the  members  have  friends  and 
spies  everywhere  .  .  .  even  inside  the  Hotel  de  Ville  .  .  . 
why !  the  other  day  I  had  to  dismiss  a  servant  who  .  .  ." 

"Easy,  easy,  M.  le  prefet,"  broke  in  M.  le  Comte  im- 
patiently, "the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  you  would 
not  feel  safe  with  the  money  anywhere  outside  Grenoble." 

"Or  inside  it,  M.  le  Comte." 

"Very  well,  then,  the  money  must  be  deposited  there, 
where  it  will  be  safe.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  Dupont's 
Bank?" 

"Oh,  M.  le  Comte !  an  avowed  Bonapartist !  .  .  .  M.  de 
Talleyrand  would  not  trust  him  with  the  money  last  year." 

"That  is  so  ...  but  .  .  ." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  here  interposed  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
abruptly,   "that  by   far  the  best  plan— since  this  district 


94  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

seems  to  be  a  hot-bed  of  disloyalty — ^would  be  to  convey  the 
money  straightway  to  Paris,  and  then  the  King  or  M.  de 
Talleyrand  can  dispose  of  it  as  best  they  like." 

"Ah,  Mme.  la  Duchesse,"  sighed  M.  Fourier  ecstatically 
as  he  clasped  his  podgy  little  hands  together  and  looked 
on  Madame  with  eyes  full  of  admiration  for  her  wisdom, 
"how  cleverly  that  was  spoken!  If  only  I  could  be  re- 
lieved from  that  awful  responsibility  .  .  .  five  and  twenty 
millions  under  my  charge  and  that  Corsican  ogre  at  our 
gates!  .  .  ." 

"That  is  all  very  well!"  quoth  the  Comte  with  marked 
impatience,  "but  how  is  it  going  to  be  done?  'Convey 
the  money  to  Paris'  is  easily  said.  But  who  is  going  to  do 
it?  M.  le  prefet  here  says  that  the  Bonapartists  have 
spies  everywhere  round  Grenoble,  and  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  M.  le  Comte!"  exclaimed  the  prefet  eagerly.  "I 
have  already  thought  of  such  a  beautiful  plan!  If  only 
you  would  consent  .  .  ." 

M.  le  Comte's  thin  lips  curled  in  a  sarcastic  smile. 

"Oh!  you  have  thought  it  all  out  already,  M.  le  prefet?" 
he  said.  "Well!  let  me  hear  your  plan,  but  I  warn  you 
that  I  will  not  have  the  money  brought  here.  I  don't 
half  trust  the  peasantry  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  I  won't 
have  a  fight  or  an  outrage  committed  in  my  house !" 

M.  le  prefet  was  ready  with  a  protest: 

"No,  no,  M.  le  Comte!"  he  said,  "I  wouldn't  suggest 
such  a  thing  for  the  world.  If  the  Corsican  brigand  is 
successful  in  capturing  Grenoble,  no  place  would  be  sacred 
to  him.  No!  My  idea  was  if  you,  M.  le  Comte — who 
have  oft  before  journeyed  to  Paris  and  back — would  do 
it  now  .  .  .  before  Bonaparte  gets  any  nearer  to  Grenoble 
.  .  .  and  take  the  money  with  you  .  .  ." 

"I?"  exclaimed  the  Comte.  "But,  man,  if — as  you  say 
— Grenoble  is  full  of  Bonapartist  spies,  my  movements  are 
no  doubt  just  as  closely  watched  as  your  own." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  96 

"No,  no,  M.  le  Comte,  not  quite  so  closely,  I  am  sure." 

The  insinuating  manner  of  the  worthy  man,  however, 
was  apparently  getting  on  M.  le  Comte's  nerves. 

"Ah,  Qa,  M.  le  prefet,"  he  ejaculated  abruptly,  "but 
meseems  that  the  splendid  plan  you  thought  on  merely 
consists  in  transferring  responsibility  from  your  shoulders 
to  mine   own." 

And  M.  le  Comte  cast  such  a  wrathful  look  on  poor 
M.  Fourier  that  the  unfortunate  man  was  stricken  dumb 
with  confusion. 

"Moreover,"  concluded  the  Comte,  "I  don't  know  that 
you,  M.  le  prefet,  have  the  right  to  dispose  of  this  money 
which  was  entrusted  to  you  by  M.  de  Talleyrand  in  the 
King's  behalf  without  consulting  His  Majesty's  wishes  in 
the  matter." 

"Bah,  Andre,"  broke  in  the  Duchesse  In  her  incisive 
way,  "you  are  talking  nonsense,  and  you  know  it.  There 
is  no  time  for  red-tapeism  now  with  that  ogre  at  our  gates. 
How  are  you  going  to  consult  His  Majesty's  wishes — ^who 
is  in  Paris — between  now  and  Tuesday,  I  would  like  to 
know?"  she  added  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Whereupon  M.  le  Comte  waxed  politely  sarcastic. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "you  would  prefer  us  to  consult 
yours." 

"You  might  do  worse,"  she  retorted  imperturbably. 
"The  question  is  one  which  is  very  easily  solved.  Ought 
His  Majesty  the  King  to  have  that  money,  or  should  M. 
le  prefet  here  take  the  risk  of  its  falling  in  Bonaparte's 
hands?  Answer  me  that,"  she  said  decisively,  "and  then 
I  will  tell  you  how  best  to  succeed  in  carrying  out  your 
own  wishes." 

"What  a  question,  my  good  Sophie!"  said  the  Comte 
stiffly.  "Of  course  we  desire  His  Majesty  to  have  what 
is  rightfully  his." 

"You  mean  he  ought  to  have  the  twenty-five  millions 


96  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

which  the  Prince  de  Benevant  stole  from  Marie  Louise. 
Very  well  then,  obviously  that  money  ought  to  be  taken 
to  Paris  before  Bonaparte  gets  much  nearer  to  Grenoble 
— but  it  should  not  be  taken  by  you,  my  good  Andre,  nor 
yet  by  M.  le  prefet." 

"By  whom  then?"  queried  the  Comte  irritably. 

"By  me,"  replied  Mme.  la  Duchesse. 

"By  you,  Sophie !     Impossible !" 

"And  God  alive,  why  impossible,  I  pray  you?"  she  -iC- 
torted.  "The  money,  I  understand,  is  in  a  very  portable 
form,  notes  and  bankers'  drafts,  which  can  be  stowed  away 
quite  easily.  Why  shouldn't  I  be  journeying  back  to  Paris 
after  Crystal's  wedding?  Who  would  suspect  me,  I  should 
like  to  know,  of  carrying  twenty-five  millions  under  my 
petticoats?  All  I  should  want  would  be  a  couple  of  sturdy 
fellows  on  the  box  to  protect  me  against  footpads.  Im- 
possible?" she  continued  tartly.  "Men  are  always  so  ready 
with  that  word.  Get  a  sensible  woman,  I  say,  and  she 
will  solve  your  difficulties  before  you  have  finished  exclaim- 
ing :  'Impossible !'  " 

And  she  looked  triumphantly  from  one  man  to  the  o^^^her. 
There  was  obvious  relief  on  the  ruddy  face  of  little  M. 
Fourier,  and  even  M.  le  Comte  was  visibly  taken  with  the 
idea. 

"Well!"  he  at  last  condescended  to  say,  "it  does  sound 
feasible  after  all." 

"Feasible?  Of  course  it's  feasible,"  said  Madame  with 
a  shrug  of  contempt.  "Either  the  King  is  in  want  of 
the  money,  or  he  is  not.  Either  Bonaparte  is  likely  to 
get  it  or  he  is  not.  If  the  King  wants  it,  he  must  have 
it  at  any  cost  and  any  risk.  Twenty-five  millions  in  Bona- 
parte's hands  at  this  juncture  would  help  him  to  recon- 
stitute his  army  and  make  it  very  unpleasant  for  the  King 
and  for  us  all.  M.  le  prefet,  who  has  been  in  charge  of 
the  money  all  along,  and  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,  who 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR     97 

is  the  only  true  royalist  in  the  district,  are  both  marked 
down  by  spies :  ergo  Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Agen  is  the 
only  possible  agent  for  the  business,  and  an  inoffensive 
old  woman  without  any  political  standing  is  the  least  likely 
to  be  molested  in  her  task.  If  I  fail,  I  fail,"  concluded 
Madame  decisively,  "if  I  am  stopped  on  the  way  and  the 
money  taken  from  me,  well!  I  am  stopped,  that's  all!  and 
M.  le  prefet  or  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  or  any  male 
agent  they  may  have  sent  would  have  been  stopped  like- 
wise. But  I  maintain  that  a  woman  travelling  alone  is 
far  safer  at  this  business  and  more  likely  to  succeed  than 
a  man.  So  now,  for  God's  sake,  don't  let's  argue  any 
more  about  it.  Crystal  is  to  be  married  on  Tuesday  and 
I  could  start  that  same  afternoon.  Can  you  bring  the 
money  over  with  you  to-night?" 

She  put  her  query  directly  to  the  prefet,  who  was  ob- 
viously overjoyed,  and  intensely  relieved  at  the  sugges- 
tion. 

M.  le  Comte  too  seemed  to  be  won  over  by  his  sister's 
persuasive  rhetoric:  her  strength  of  mind  and  firmness  of 
purpose  always  imposed  themselves  on  those  over  whom 
she  chose  to  exert  her  will:  and  men  of  somewhat  weak 
character  like  the  Comte  de  Cambray  came  very  easily 
under  the  sway  of  her  dominating  personality. 

But  he  thought  it  incumbent  upon  his  dignity  to  make 
one  more  protest  before  he  finally  yielded  to  his  sister's 
arguments. 

"I  don't  like,"  he  said,  "the  idea  of  your  travelling  alone 
through  the  country  without  sufficient  escort.  The  roads 
are  none  too  safe  and  .  .  ." 

"Bah!"  broke  in  Madame  impatiently.  "I  pray  you. 
Monsieur  my  brother,  to  strengthen  your  arguments,  if 
you  are  really  determined  to  oppose  this  sensible  scheme 
of  mine.  Travelling  alone,  forsooth!  Did  I  not  arrive 
only  yesterday,  having  travelled  all  the  way  from  Boulogne 


98  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

and  with  no  escort  save  two  louts  on  the  box  of  a  hired 
coach  ?" 

"You  chose  to  travel  alone,  my  dear  sister,  for  reasons 
best  known  to  yourself,"  retorted  the  Comte,  greatly  an- 
gered that  M.  le  prefet  should  hear  the  fact  that  Mme. 
la  Duchesse  douairiere  had  travelled  at  any  time  without 
an  escort 

"And  who  shall  say  me  nay,  if  I  choose  to  travel  back 
alone  again,  I  should  like  to  know?  So  now  if  you  have 
exhausted  your  string  of  objections,  my  dear  brother,  per- 
haps you  will  allow  M.  le  prefet  to  answer  my  ques- 
tion." 

Whereupon  M.  le  prefet  promptly  satisfied  Mme.  la 
Duchesse  on  the  point :  he  certainly  could  and  would  bring 
the  money  over  with  him  this  evening.  And  M.  le  Comte 
had  no  further  objections  to  offer. 

In  the  archives  of  the  Ministry  of  War  in  Paris,  any 
one  who  looks  may  read  that  in  the  subsequent  trial  of 
General  Marchand  for  high  treason — after  the  Hundred 
Days  and  Napoleon's  second  abdication — prefet  Fourier  dur- 
ing the  course  of  his  evidence  gave  a  detailed  account  of 
this  same  interview  which  he  had  with  M.  le  Comte  de 
Cambray  and  Mme.  la  Duchesse  douairiere  d'Agen  on  Sun- 
day, March  the  5th.  In  his  deposition  he  naturally  laid 
great  stress  upon  his  own  zeal  in  the  matter,  declaring 
that  he  it  was  who  finally  overcame  by  his  eloquence  M. 
le  Comte's  objections  to  the  scheme  and  decided  him  to 
give  his  acquiescence  thereto.* 

Certain  it  is  that  there  was  but  little  argument  after 
this  between  Mme.  la  Duchesse  and  the  two  men,  and  that 
the  details  of  the  scheme  were  presently  discussed  soberly 
and  in  all  their  bearings. 

"I  shall  have  the  honour  presently,"  said  Fourier,  "of 
coming  back  here  to  respond  to  M.  le  Comte's  gracious 

*  Deposition  de  Fourier.     (Dossier  de  Marchant  Arch.  Guerre.) 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  99 

invitation  to  dinner.  Why  shouldn't  I  bring  the  money 
with  me  then?" 

"Indeed  you  must  bring  the  money  then,"  retorted  the 
irascible  old  lady,  "and  let  there  be  no  shirking  or  delay. 
Promptitude  is  our  great  chance  of  success.  I  ought  not 
to  start  later  than  Tuesday,  and  I  could  do  so  soon  after 
the  wedding  ceremony.  I  could  arrange  to  sleep  at 
Lyons  that  night,  at  Dijon  the  next  day,  be  in  Paris 
by  Thursday  evening  and  in  the  King's  presence  on 
Friday." 

"Provided  you  are  not  delayed,"  sighed  the  Comte. 

"If  I  am  delayed,  my  good  Andre,  then  anyhow  the 
game  is  up.  But  we  are  not  going  to  anticipate  misfor- 
tune and  we  are  going  to  believe  in  our  lucky  star." 

"Would  to  God  I  could  bring  myself  to  approve  whole- 
heartedly of  this  expedition!  The  whole  thing  seems  to 
me  chivalrous  and  romantic  rather  than  prudent,  and 
Heaven  knows  how  prudent  we  should  be  just  now!" 

"You  look  back  on  history,  my  dear  brother,"  remarked 
Madame  drily,  "and  you'll  see  that  more  great  events 
have  been  brought  about  by  chivalry  and  romance  than 
by  prudence  and  circumspection.  The  romance  of  Joan 
of  Arc  delivered  France  from  foreign  yoke,  the  chivalry  of 
Frangois  I.  saved  the  honour  of  France  after  the  disaster 
of  Pavie,  and  it  certainly  was  not  prudence  which  set  Henry 
of  Navarre  upon  the  throne  of  France  and  in  the  heart  of 
his  people.  So  for  gracious'  sake  do  not  let  us  talk  of 
prudence  any  more.  Rather  let  us  allow  M.  le  prefet  to 
return  quietly  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  so  that  he  and  Mme. 
Fourier  may  proceed  to  dress  for  to-night's  ceremony,  just 
as  if  nothing  untoward  had  happened.  In  the  meanwhile 
I  will  complete  my  preparations  for  Tuesday.  There  are 
one  or  two  little  details  in  connection  with  my  journey — 
hostelries,  servants,  horses  and  so  on — which  you,  my  dear 
Andre,  will  kindly  decide  for  me.     And  oow,  gentlemen," 


100  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

she  added,  rising  from  her  chair,  "I  have  the  honour  to 
wish  you  both  a  very  good  afternoon." 

She  did  not  wait  long  enough  to  allow  M.  le  Comte 
time  to  ring  for  Hector,  and  she  appeared  so  busy  with 
her  lace  shawl  that  she  was  unable  to  do  more  than  ac- 
knowledge with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  M.  le 
prefet's  respectful  salute.  But  then  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
douairiere  d'Agen — though  a  fervent  royalist  herself — had 
a  wholesome  contempt  for  these  opportunists.  Fourier, 
celebrated  mathematician,  loaded  with  gifts  and  honours  by 
Napoleon,  who  had  made  him  a  member  of  the  Institute 
of  Science  and  given  him  the  prefecture  of  the  Isere,  had 
turned  his  coat  very  readily  at  the  Restoration,  and  the 
oaths  of  loyalty  which  he  had  tendered  to  the  Emperor 
seemed  not  to  weigh  overheavily  upon  his  conscience  when 
he  reiterated  them  to  the  King, 

Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Agen,  therefore,  did  not  willingly 
place  her  aristocratic  fingers  in  the  hand  of  a  renegade, 
who  she  felt  might  turn  renegade  again  if  his  personal 
interest  so  dictated  it.  Perhaps  something  of  what  lay 
behind  Madame's  curt  nod  to  him,  struck  the  prefet's  sen- 
sibilities, for  the  high  colour  suddenly  fled  from  his  round 
face,  and  he  did  not  attempt  to  approach  her  for  the  cere- 
monial hand-kissing.  But  he  ran  across  the  room  as  fast 
as  his  short  legs  would  carry  him,  and  he  opened  the  door 
for  her  and  bowed  to  her  as  she  sailed  past  him  with  all 
the  deference  which  in  the  olden  days  of  the  Empire  he 
had  accorded  to  the  Empress  Marie  Louise. 

"It  is  a  mad  scheme,  my  good  M.  Fourier,"  sighed  the 
Comte  when  he  found  himself  once  more  alone  with  the 
prefet,  "but  such  as  it  is  I  can  think  of  nothing  bet- 
ter." 

"M.  le  Comte,"  exclaimed  the  prefet  with  delight,  "no 
one  could  think  of  anything  better.  Ah,  the  women  of 
France!"  he  added  ecstatically,  "the  women!  how  often 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    101 

have  they  saved  France  in  moments  of  crises?     France 
owes  her  grandeur  to  her  women,  M.  le  Comte!" 

"And  also  her  reverses,  my  dear  M.  Fourier,"  remarked 
the  Comte  drily. 

n 

When  Bobby  Clyffurde  came  back  to  Brestalou,  after 
his  long  day's  ride,  he  found  the  stately  rooms  of  the  old 
castle  already  prepared  for  the  arrival  of  M.  le  Comte's 
guests.  The  large  reception  hall  had  been  thrown  open,  as 
— after  supper — M.  le  Comte  would  be  receiving  some  of 
the  notabilities  of  Grenoble  in  honour  of  a  great  occa- 
sion: the  signature  of  the  contrat  de  manage  between 
Mile.  Crystal  de  Cambray  de  Brestalou  and  M.  Victor  de 
Marmont.  There  was  an  array  of  liveried  servants  in  the 
hall  and  along  the  corridor  through  which  Bobby  had  to 
pass  on  the  way  to  his  own  room:  their  liveries  of  purple 
with  canary  facings — the  heraldic  colours  of  the  family  of 
Cambray  de  Brestalou — hardly  showed,  in  the  flickering 
light  of  wax  candles,  the  many  ravages  of  moth  and  mildew 
which  twenty  years  of  neglect  had  wrought  upon  the  once 
fine  and  brilliant  cloth. 

Downstairs  the  formal  supper  which  was  to  precede  the 
reception  was  laid  for  twenty  guests.  The  table  was  re- 
splendent with  the  silver  so  kindly  lent  by  a  benevolent 
and  far-seeing  king  to  those  of  his  friends  who  had  not 
the  means  of  replacing  the  ancient  family  treasures  filched 
from  them  by  the  revolutionary  government. 

There  were  no  flowers  upon  the  table,  and  only  very 
few  wax  candles  burned  in  the  ormolu  and  crystal  chande- 
lier overhead.  Flowers  and  wax  candles  were  luxuries 
which  must  be  paid  for  with  ready  money — a  commodity 
which  was  exceedingly  scarce  in  the  grandiose  Chateau 
de  Brestalou — but  they  also  were  a  luxury  which  could 
easily  be  dispensed   with,    for  did   not   M.   le   Comte  de 


102  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Cambray  set  the  fashions  and  give  the  tone  to  the  whole 
dcpartement?  and  if  he  chose  to  have  no  flowers  upon 
his  supper  table  and  but  few  candles  in  his  silver  sconces, 
why  then  society  must  take  it  for  granted  that  such 
now  was  hon  ton  and  the  prevailing  fashion  at  the 
Tuileries. 

Bobby,  knowing  his  host's  fastidious  tastes  in  such  mat- 
ters, had  made  a  very  careful  toilet,  all  the  while  that  his 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  wonderful  news  which  Emery 
had  brought  this  day,  and  which  was  all  over  Grenoble 
by  now.  He  and  his  two  companions  had  left  Notre  Dame 
de  Vaulx  soon  after  their  dejeuner,  and  together  had  en- 
tered the  city  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  On  their 
way  they  had  encountered  the  travelling-coach  of  General 
Mouton-Duveret,  who,  accompanied  by  his  aide-de-camp, 
was  on  his  way  to  Gap,  where  he  intended  to  organise 
strong  resistance  against  Bonaparte. 

He  parleyed  some  time  with  Emery,  whom  he  knew  by 
sight  and  suspected  of  being  an  emissary  of  the  Corsican. 
Emery,  with  true  southern  verve,  gave  the  worthy  general 
a  highly-coloured  account  of  the  triumphal  progress 
through  Provence  and  the  Dauphine  of  Napoleon,  whom 
he  boldly  called  "the  Emperor."  Mouton — in  no  way 
belying  his  name — was  very  upset  not  only  by  the  news, 
but  by  his  own  helplessness  with  regard  to  Emery,  who 
he  knew  would  presently  be  in  Grenoble  distributing  the 
usurper's  proclamations  all  over  the  city,  whilst  he — 'Mou- 
ton— with  his  one  aide-de-camp  and  a  couple  of  loutish 
servants  on  the  box  of  his  coach,  could  do  nothing  to 
detain  him. 

As  soon  as  the  three  men  had  ridden  away,  however, 
he  sent  his  aide-de-camp  back  to  Grenoble  by  a  round- 
about way,  ordering  him  to  make  as  great  speed  as  pos- 
sible, and  to  see  General  Marchand  as  soon  as  may  be,  so 
that  immediate  measures  might  be  taken  to  prevent  that 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  103 

emissary  if  not  from  entering  the  city,  at  least  from  posting 
up  proclamations  on  public  buildings. 

But  Mouton's  aide-de-camp  was  no  match  against  the 
enthusiasm  and  ingenuity  of  Emery  and  de  Marmont,  and 
when  he^-in  his  turn — entered  Grenoble  soon  after  five 
o'clock,  he  was  confronted  by  the  printed  proclamations 
signed  by  the  familiar  and  dreaded  name  "Napoleon"  af- 
fixed to  the  gates  of  the  city,  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the 
mairie,  the  prison,  the  barracks,  and  to  every  street  corner 
in  Grenoble. 

The  three  friends  had  parted  at  the  porte  de  Bonne, 
Emery  to  go  to  his  friend  Dumoulin,  the  glovemaker — 
de  Marmont  to  his  lodgings  in  the  rue  Montorge,  whilst 
Bobby  Clyffurde  rode  straight  back  to  Brestalou. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Victor  de  Marmont  had  also 
arrived  at  the  castle.  He  too  had  made  an  elaborate  toilet, 
and  then  had  driven  over  in  a  hackney  coach  in  advance  of 
the  other  guests,  seeing  that  he  desired  to  have  a  final  in- 
terview with  M.  le  Comte  before  he  affixed  his  name  to 
his  contrat  de  manage  with  Mile,  de  Cambray.  An  air 
of  solemnity  sat  well  upon  his  good-looking  face,  but  it  was 
obvious  that  he  was  trying — somewhat  in  vain — to  keep  an 
inward  excitement  in  check. 

M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,  believing  that  this  excitement 
was  entirely  due  to  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  had 
smiled  indulgently — a  trifle  contemptuously  too — at  young 
de  Marmont's  very  apparent  eagerness.  A  vulgar  display 
of  feelings,  an  inability  to  control  one's  words  and  move- 
ments when  under  the  stress  of  emotion  was  characteristic 
of  the  parvenus  of  to-day,  and  de  Marmont's  unfettered 
agitation  when  coming  to  sign  his  own  marriage  contract 
was  only  on  a  par  with  prefet  Fourier's  nervousness  this 
afternoon. 

The  Comte  received  his  future  son-in-law  with  a  gracious 
smile.    The  thought  of  an  alliance  between  Mile,  de  Cam- 


104  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

bray  de  Brestalou  and  a  de  Marmont  of  Nowhere  had 
been  a  bitter  pill  to  swallow,  but  M.  le  Comte  was  too  proud 
to  show  how  distasteful  it  had  been.  Chatting  pleasantly 
the  two  men  repaired  together  to  the  library. 

Ill 

Bobby  Qyffurde — immaculately  dressed  in  fine  cloth  coat 
and  satin  breeches,  with  fine  Mechlin  lace  at  throat  and 
wrist,  and  his  light  brown  hair  tied  at  the  nape  of  the  neck 
with  a  big  black  bow — came  down  presently  to  the  recep- 
tion room.     He  found  the  place  silent  and  deserted. 

But  the  stately  apartment  looked  more  cosy  and  home- 
like than  usual.  A  cheerful  fire  was  burning  in  the  monu- 
mental hearth  and  the  soft  light  of  the  candles  fixed  in 
sconces  round  the  walls  tempered  to  a  certain  degree  that 
bare  and  severe  look  of  past  grandeur  which  usually  hung 
upon  every  corner  of  the  old  chateau. 

Clyffurde  went  up  to  the  tall  hearth.  He  rested  his  hand 
on  the  ledge  of  the  mantel  and  leaning  his  forehead  against 
it  he  stared  moodily  into  the  fire. 

Thoughts  of  all  that  he  had  learned  in  the  past  few  hours, 
of  the  new  chapter  in  the  book  of  the  destinies  of  France, 
begun  a  few  days  ago  in  the  bay  of  Jouan,  crowded  in 
upon  his  mind.  What  difference  would  the  unfolding  of 
that  new  chapter  make  to  the  destinies  of  the  Comte  de 
Cambray  and  of  Crystal  ?  What  had  Fate  in  store  for  the 
bold  adventurer  who  was  marching  across  France  with 
a  handful  of  men  to  reconquer  a  throne  and  remake  an 
empire?  what  had  she  in  store  for  the  stiff-necked  aristo- 
crat of  the  old  regime  who  still  believed  that  God  him- 
self had  made  special  laws  for  the  benefit  of  one  class  of 
humanity,  and  that  He  had  even  created  them  differently 
to  the  rest  of  mankind? 

And  what  had  Fate  in  store  for  the  beautiful,  delicate  girl 
whose  future  had  been  so  arbitrarily  settled  by  two  men 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR         105 

— father  and  lover — one  the  buyer,  the  other  the  seller  of 
her  exquisite  person,  the  shrine  of  her  pure  and  idealistic 
soul — and  bargained  for  by  father  and  lover  as  the  price 
of  so  many  acres  of  land — a  farm — a  chateau — an  ancestral 
estate  ? 

Father  and  lover  were  sitting  together  even  now  dis- 
cussing values — the  purchase  price — "You  give  me  back  my 
lands,  I  will  give  you  my  daughter!"  Blood  money!  soul 
money !  Clyffurde  called  it  as  he  ground  his  teeth  together 
in  impotent  rage. 

What  folly  it  was  to  care!  what  folly  to  have  allowed 
the  tendrils  of  his  over-sensitive  heart  to  twine  themselves 
round  this  beautiful  girl,  who  was  as  far  removed  from 
his  destiny  as  were  the  ambitions  of  his  boyhood,  the  hopes, 
the  dreams  which  the  hard  circumstances  of  fate  had  forced 
him  to  bury  beneath  the  grave-mound  of  rigid  and  un- 
swerving duty. 

But  what  a  dream  it  had  been,  this  love  for  Crystal 
de  Cambray!  It  had  filled  his  entire  soul  from  the  mo- 
ment when  first  he  saw  her — down  in  the  garden  under 
an  avenue  of  ilex  trees  which  cast  their  mysterious 
shadows  over  her ;  her  father  had  called  to  her  and  she  had 
come  across  to  where  he — Clyffurde — stood  silently  watch- 
ing this  approaching  vision  of  loveliness  which  never  would 
vanish  from  his  mental  gaze  again. 

Even  at  that  supreme  moment,  when  her  blue  eyes,  her 
sweet  smile,  the  exquisite  grace  of  her  took  possession 
of  his  soul,  even  then  he  knew  already  that  his  dream  could 
have  but  one  awakening.  She  was  already  plighted  to  an- 
other, a  happier  man,  but  even  if  she  were  free,  Crystal 
would  never  have  bestowed  a  thought  upon  the  stranger 
— the  commonplace  tradesman,  whose  only  merit  in  her 
sight  lay  in  his  friendship  with  another  gallant  English 
gentleman. 

And  knowing  this — when  he  saw  her  after  that,  day 


106  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

after  day,  hour  after  hour — poor  Bobby  Clyfifurde  grew 
reconciled  to  the  knowledge  that  the  gates  of  his  Paradise 
would  for  ever  be  locked  against  him:  he  grew  contented 
just  to  peep  through  those  gates;  and  the  Angel  who  was 
on  guard  there,  holding  the  flaming  sword  of  caste  prejudice 
against  him,  would  relent  at  times  and  allow  him  to  linger 
on  the  threshold  and  to  gaze  into  a  semblance  of  happiness. 

Those  thoughts,  those  dreams,  those  longings,  he  had 
been  able  to  endure;  to-day  reality  had  suddenly  become 
more  insistent  and  more  stern:  the  Angel's  flaming  sword 
would  sear  his  soul  after  this,  if  he  lingered  any  longer 
by  the  enchanted  gates:  and  thus  had  the  semblance  of 
happiness  yielded  at  last  to  dull  regret. 

He  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

IV 

The  sound  of  the  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door,  the 
soft  frou-frou  of  a  woman's  skirt  roused  him  from  his 
gloomy  reverie,  and  caused  him  to  jump  to  his  feet. 

Mile.  Crystal  was  coming  across  the  long  reception  room, 
walking  with  a  slow  and  weary  step  toward  the  hearth. 
She  was  obviously  not  yet  aware  of  Clyffurde's  presence, 
and  he  had  full  leisure  to  watch  her  as  she  approached, 
to  note  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks  and  lips  and  that  pathetic 
look  of  childlike  self-pity  and  almost  of  appeal  which  veiled 
the  brilliance  of  her  deep  blue  eyes. 

A  moment  later  she  saw  him  and  came  more  quickly 
across  the  room,  with  hand  extended,  and  an  air  of  gracious 
condescension  in  her  whole  attitude. 

"Ah!  M.  Clyfifurde,"  she  said  in  perfect  English,  "I 
did  not  know  you  were  here  .  .  .  and  all  alone.  My 
father,"  she  added,  "is  occupied  with  serious  matters  down- 
stairs, else  he  would  have  been  here  to  receive  you." 

"I  know.  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  after  he  had  kissed 
the  tips  of  three  cold  little  fingers  which  had  been  held  out 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  107 

to  him.  "My  friend  de  Marmont  is  with  him  just  now: 
he  desired  to  speak  with  M,  le  Comte  in  private  ...  on 
a  matter  which  closely  concerns  his  happiness." 

"Ah !  then  you  knew  ?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,  I  knew,"  he  replied. 

She  had  settled  herself  down  in  a  high-backed  chair  close 
to  the  hearth,  the  ruddy  light  of  the  wood-fire  played 
upon  her  white  satin  gown,  upon  her  bare  arms,  and  the 
ends  of  her  lace  scarf,  upon  her  satin  shoes  and  the  bunch 
of  snowdrops  at  her  breast,  but  her  face  was  in  shadow 
and  she  did  not  look  up  at  Clyffurde,  whilst  he — poor 
fool! — stood  before  her,  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
this  dainty  picture  which  mayhap  after  to-night  would  never 
gladden  his  eyes  again. 

"You  are  a  great  friend  of  M.  de  Marmont?"  she  asked 
after  a  while. 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle — a  friend?"  he  replied  with  a  self- 
deprecatory  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  "friendship  is  too  great 
a  name  to  give  to  our  chance  acquaintanceship.  I  met 
Victor  de  Marmont  less  than  a  fortnight  ago,  in  Gre- 
noble. .  .  ." 

"Ah  yes !  I  had  forgotten — ^he  told  me  that  he  had  first 
met  you  at  the  house  of  a  M.  Dumoulin  .  .  ." 

"In  the  shop  of  M.  Dumoulin,  Mademoiselle,"  broke  in 
Clyffurde  with  his  good-humoured  smile.  "M.  Dumoulin, 
the  glovemaker,  with  whom  I  was  transacting  business  at 
the  moment  when  M.  de  Marmont  walked  in,  in  order 
to  buy  himself  a  pair  of  gloves." 

"Of  course,"  she  added  coldly,  "I  had  forgot- 
ten. ..." 

"You  were  not  likely  to  remember  such  a  trivial  circum- 
stance. Mademoiselle.  M.  de  Marmont  saw  me  after  that 
here  as  guest  in  your  father's  house.  He  was  greatly  sur- 
prised at  finding  me — a  mere  tradesman — in  such  an  hon- 
oured position.     Surprise  laid  the  foundation  of  pleasing 


108  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

intercourse  between  us,  but  you  see,  Mademoiselle,  that 
M,  de  Marmont  has  no  cause  to  boast  of  his  friendship  with 
me. 

"Oh !  M.  de  Marmont  is  not  so  prejudiced.  .  .  ." 

"As  you  are.  Mademoiselle?"  he  asked  quietly,  for  she 
had  paused  and  he  saw  that  she  bit  her  lips  with  her  tiny 
white  teeth  as  if  she  meant  to  check  the  words  that  would 
come  tumbling  out. 

Thus  directly  questioned  she  gave  a  littW  shrug  of  dis- 
dain. 

"My  opinions  in  the  matter  are  not  in  question,  Sir," 
she  said  coldly. 

She  smothered  a  little  yawn  which  may  have  been  due 
to  ennui,  but  also  to  the  tingling  of  her  nerves.  Clyf- 
furde  saw  that  her  hands  were  never  still  for  a  moment; 
she  was  either  fingering  the  snowdrops  in  her  belt  or 
smoothing  out  the  creases  in  her  lace  scarf;  from  time  to 
time  she  raised  her  head  and  a  tense  expression  came  into 
her  face,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  listen  to  what  was  going 
on  elsewhere  in  the  house — downstairs  perhaps — in  the  li- 
brary where  she  was  being  finally  bargained  for  and  sold. 

Clyffurde  felt  an  intense — ^an  unreasoning  pity  for  her, 
and  because  of  that  pity — ^the  gentle  kinsman  of  fierce 
love — ^he  found  it  in  his  heart  to  forgive  her  all  her  preju- 
dices, that  almost  arrogant  pride  of  caste  which  was  in  her 
blood,  for  which  she  was  no  more  responsible  than  she 
was  for  the  colour  of  her  hair  or  the  vivid  blue  of  her 
eyes;  she  seemed  so  forlorn — such  a  child,  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  decadent  grandeur.  She  was  being  so  ruthlessly 
sacrificed  for  ideals  that  were  no  longer  tenable,  that  had 
ceased  to  be  tenable  five  and  twenty  years  ago  when  this 
chateau  and  these  lands  were  overrun  by  a  savage  and 
vengeful  mob,  who  were  loudly  demanding  the  right  to  live 
in  happiness,  in  comfort,  and  in  freedom.  That  right  had 
been  denied  to  them  through  the  past  centuries  by  those 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  109 

who  were  of  her  own  kith  and  kin,  and  it  was  snatched  with 
brutal  force,  with  lust  of  hate  and  thirst  for  reprisals, 
by  the  revolutionary  crowd  when  it  came  into  its  own  at 
last. 

Something  of  the  pity  which  he  felt  for  this  beautiful 
and  innocent  victim  of  rancour,  oppression  and  prejudice, 
must  have  been  manifest  in  Clyffurde's  earnest  eyes,  for 
when  Crystal  looked  up  to  him  and  met  his  glance  she 
drew  herself  up  with  an  air  of  haughty  detachment.  And 
with  that,  she  wished  to  convey  still  more  tangibly  to  him 
the  idea  of  that  barrier  of  caste  which  must  for  ever  divide 
her  from  him. 

Obviously  his  look  of  pity  had  angered  her,  for  now 
she  said  abruptly  and  with  marked  coldness: 

"My  father  tells  me,  Sir,  that  you  are  thinking  of  leav- 
ing France  shortly." 

"Indeed,  Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  "I  have  trespassed 
too  long  as  it  is  on  M.  le  Comte's  gracious  hospitality. 
My  visit  originally  was  only  for  a  fortnight.  I  thought  of 
leaving  for  England  to-morrow." 

A  little  lift  of  the  eyebrows,  an  unnecessary  smoothing 
of  an  invisible  crease  in  her  gown  and  Crystal  asked 
lightly : 

"Before  the  .  .  .  my  wedding,  Sir?" 

"Before  your  wedding,  Mademoiselle." 

She  frowned — vaguely  stirred  to  irritation  by  his  ill- 
concealed  indifference.  "I  trust,"  she  rejoined  pointedly, 
"that  you  are  satisfied  with  your  trade  in  Grenoble." 

The  little  shaft  was  meant  to  sting,  but  if  Bobby  felt 
any  pain  he  certainly  appeared  to  bear  it  with  perfect 
good-humour. 

"I  am  quite  satisfied,"  he  said.  "I  thank  you.  Mademoi- 
selle." 

"It  must  be  very  pleasing  to  conclude  such  affairs  satis- 
factorily," she  continued. 


110  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Very  pleasing,  Mademoiselle." 

"Of  course — given  the  right  temperament  for  such  a 
career — it  must  be  so  much  more  comfortable  to  spend 
one's  life  in  making  money — buying  and  selling  things  and 
so  on — rather  than  to  risk  it  every  day  for  the  barren  hon- 
our of  serving  one's  king  and  country." 

"As  you  say,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  quite  imperturbably, 
"given  the  right  temperament,  it  certainly  is  much  more 
comfortable." 

"And  you,  Sir,  I  take  it,  are  the  happy  possessor  of 
such  a  temperament." 

"I  suppose  so,  Mademoiselle." 

"You  are  content  to  buy  and  to  sell  and  to  make  money  ? 
to  rest  at  ease  and  let  the  men  who  love  their  country 
and  their  king  fight  for  you  and  for  their  ideals?" 

Her  voice  had  suddenly  become  trenchant  and  hard,  her 
manner  contemptuous — at  strange  variance  with  the  in- 
different kindliness  wherewith  she  had  hitherto  seemed  to 
regard  her  father's  English  guest.  Certainly  her  nerves — 
he  thought — were  very  much  on  edge,  and  no  doubt  his 
own  always  unruffled  calm — the  combined  product  of  tem- 
perament, nationality  and  education — ^had  an  irritating  ef- 
fect upon  her.  Had  he  not  been  so  intensely  sorry  for 
her,  he  would  have  resented  this  final  taunt  of  hers — an 
arrow  shot  this  time  with  intent  to  wound. 

But  as  it  was  he  merely  said  with  a  smile: 

"Surely,  Mademoiselle,  my  contentment  with  my  own 
lot,  and  any  other  feelings  of  which  I  may  be  possessed, 
are  of  such  very  little  consequence — seeing  that  they  are 
only  the  feelings  of  a  very  commonplace  tradesman — that 
they  are  not  worthy  of  being  discussed." 

Then  as  quickly  her  manner  changed :  the  contemptuous 
look  vanished  from  her  eyes,  the  sarcastic  curl  from  her 
lips,  and  with  one  of  those  quick  transitions  of  mood  which 
were  perhaps  the  principal  charm  of  Crystal  de  Cambray's 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    111 

personality,  she  looked  up  at  Bobby  with  a  winning  smile 
and  an  appeal  for  forgiveness. 

"Your  pardon,  Sir,"  she  said  softly.  "I  was  shrewish 
and  ill-tempered,  and  deserve  a  severe  lesson  in  courtesy. 
I  did  not  mean  to  be  disagreeable,"  she  added  with  a  little 
sigh,  "but  my  nerves  are  all  a-quiver  to-day  and  this  awful 
news  has  weighed  upon  my  spirit.  .  .  ." 

"What  awful  news.  Mademoiselle?"  he  asked. 

"Surely  you  have  heard?" 

"You  mean  the  news  about  Napoleon  ...   ?" 

"I  mean  the  awful  certainty,"  she  retorted  with  a  sudden 
outburst  of  vehemence,  "that  that  brigand,  that  usurper, 
that  scourge  of  mankind  has  escaped  from  an  all  too  lenient 
prison  where  he  should  never  have  been  confined,  seeing 
how  easy  was  escape  from  it.  I  mean  that  all  the  horrors 
of  the  past  twenty  years  will  begin  again  now,  misery, 
starvation,  exile  probably.  Oh,  surely,"  she  added  with 
ever-increasing  passion,  "surely  God  will  not  permit  such 
an  awful  thing  to  happen;  surely  he  will  strike  the  ogre 
dead,  ere  he  devastates  France  once  again!" 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  must  not  reckon  quite  so  much 
on  divine  interference.  Mademoiselle.  A  nation — like  every 
single  individual — must  shape  its  own  destiny,  and  must 
not  look  to  God  to  help  it  in  its  political  aims." 

"And  France  must  look  once  more  to  England,  I  sup- 
pose. It  is  humiliating  to  be  always  in  need  of  help,"  she 
said  with  an  impatient  little  sigh. 

"Each  nation  in  its  turn  has  it  in  its  power  to  help  a 
sister.  Sometimes  help  may  come  from  the  weaker  vessel. 
Do  you  remember  the  philosopher's  fable  of  the  lion  and 
the  mouse?  France  may  be  the  mouse  just  now — some  day 
it  may  be  in  her  power  to  requite  the  lion." 

She  shook  her  head  reprovingly.  "I  don't  know," 
she  said,  "that  I  approve  of  your  calling  France — the 
mouse." 


112  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"I  only  did  so  in  order  to  drive  my  parable  still  further 
home." 

Then  as  she  looked  a  little  puzzled,  he  continued — speak- 
ing very  slowly  this  time  and  with  an  intensity  of  feeling 
which  was  quite  different  to  his  usual  pleasant,  good-tem- 
pered, oft-times  flippant  manner:  "Mademoiselle  Crystal — 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  speak  of  such  an  insignificant  person 
as  I  am — I  am  at  present  in  the  position  of  the  mouse  with 
regard  to  your  father  and  yourself — the  lions  of  my  para- 
ble. You  might  so  easily  have  devoured  me,  you  see,"  he 
added  with  a  quaint  touch  of  humour.  "Well!  the  time 
may  come  when  you  may  have  need  of  a  friend,  just  as  I 
had  need  of  one  when  I  came  here — a,  stranger  in  a  strange 
land.  Events  will  move  with  great  rapidity  in  the  next 
few  days.  Mademoiselle  Crystal,  and  the  mouse  might  at 
any  time  be  in  a  position  to  render  a  service  to  the  lion. 
Will  you  remember  that?" 

"I  will  try.  Monsieur,"  she  replied. 

But  already  her  pride  was  once  more  up  in  arms. 
She  did  not  like  his  tone,  that  air  of  protection  which 
his  attitude  suggested.  And  indeed  she  could  not  think 
of  any  eventuality  which  would  place  the  Comte  de  Cam- 
bray  de  Brestalou  in  serious  need  of  a  tradesman  for  his 
friend. 

Then  as  quickly  again  her  mood  softened  and  as 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  he  saw  that  they  were  full  of 
tears. 

"Indeed!  indeed!"  she  said  gently,  "I  do  deserve  your 
contempt.  Sir,  for  my  shrewishness  and  vixenish  ways. 
How  can  I — how  can  any  of  us — afford  to  turn  our  backs 
upon  a  loyal  friend?  To-day  too,  of  all  days,  when  that 
awful  enemy  is  once  more  at  our  gates !  Oh !"  she  added, 
clasping  her  hands  together  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  pas- 
sionate entreaty,  "you  are  English,  Sir — a  friend  of  all 
those  gallant  gentlemen  who  saved  my  dear  father  and  his 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    113 

family  from  those  awful  revolutionaries — you  will  be  loyal 
to  us,  will  you  not?  The  English  hate  Bonaparte  as  much 
as  we  do!  you  hate  him  too,  do  you  not?  you  will  do  all 
you  can  to  help  my  poor  father  through  this  awful  crisis? 
You  will,  won't  you?"  she  pleaded. 

"Have  I  not  already  offered  you  my  humble  services, 
Mademoiselle?"  he  rejoined  earnestly. 

Indeed  this  was  a  very  serious  ordeal  for  quiet,  self- 
contained  Bobby  Clyffurde — an  Englishman,  remember — ■ 
with  all  an  Englishman's  shyness  of  emotion,  all  an  Eng- 
lishman's contempt  of  any  display  of  sentiment.  Here 
was  this  beautiful  girl — whom  he  loved  with  all  the  pas- 
sionate ardour  of  his  virile,  manly  temperament — sitting 
almost  at  his  feet,  he  looking  down  upon  her  fair  head, 
with  its  wealth  of  golden  curls,  and  into  her  blue  eyes 
which  were  full  of  tears. 

Who  shall  blame  him  if  just  then  a  desperate  longing 
seized  him  to  throw  all  prudence,  all  dignity  and  honour 
to  the  winds  and  to  clasp  this  exquisite  woman  for  one 
brief  and  happy  moment  in  his  arms — to  forget  the  world, 
her  position  and  his — to  risk  disgrace  and  betray  hospitality, 
for  the  sake  of  one  kiss  upon  her  lips?  The  temptation  was 
so  fierce — indeed  for  one  short  second  it  was  all  but  ir- 
resistible— that  something  of  the  battle  which  was  raging 
within  his  soul  became  outwardly  visible,  and  in  the  girl's 
tear-dimmed  eyes  there  crept  a  quick  look  of  alarm — so 
strange,  so  ununderstandable  was  his  glance,  the  rigidity 
of  his  attitude — ^as  if  every  muscle  had  become  taut  and 
every  nerve  strained  to  snapping  point,  v/hile  his  face  looked 
hard  and  lined,  almost  as  if  he  were  fighting  physical  pain. 


Thus  a  few  seconds  went  by  in  absolute  silence — while 
the  great  gilt  clock  upon  its  carved  bracket  ticked  on  with 
stolid  relentlessness,  marking  another  minute — and  yet  an- 


114  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

other — of  this  hour  which  was  so  full  of  portent  for  the 
destinies  of  France.  Clyffurde  would  gladly  have  bar- 
tered the  future  years  of  his  life  for  the  power  to  stay 
the  hand  of  Time  just  now — for  the  power  to  remain  just 
like  this,  standing  before  this  beautiful  woman  whom  he 
loved,  feeling  that  at  any  moment  he  could  take  her  in 
his  arms  and  kiss  her  eyes  and  her  lips,  even  if  she  were 
unwilling,  even  if  she  hated  him  for  ever  afterwards. 

The  sense  of  power  to  do  that  which  he  might  regret 
to  the  end  of  his  days  was  infinitely  sweet,  the  power  to 
fight  against  that  all-compelling  passion  was  perhaps 
sweeter  still.  Then  came  the  pride  of  victory.  The  habits 
of  a  lifetime  had  come  to  his  aid:  self-respect  and  self- 
control,  hard  and  wilful  taskmasters,  fought  against  pas- 
sion, until  it  yielded  inch  by  inch. 

The  battle  was  fought  and  won  in  those  few  moments 
of  silence:  the  strain  of  the  man's  attitude  relaxed,  the 
set  lines  on  his  face  vanished,  leaving  it  serene  and  quietly 
humorous,  calm  and  self -deprecatory.  Only  his  voice  was 
not  quite  so  steady  as  usual,  as  he  said  softly : 

"Mademoiselle  Crystal,  is  there  anything  that  I  can  do 
for  you? — ^now  at  once,  I  mean?  If  there  is,  I  do  en- 
treat you  most  earnestly  to  let  me  serve  you." 

Had  the  pure  soul  of  the  woman  been  touched  by  the 
fringe  of  that  magnetic  wave  of  passion  even  as  it  rose  to 
its  utmost  height,  nearly  sweeping  the  man  off  his  feet, 
and  in  its  final  retreat  leaving  him  with  quivering  neives 
and  senses  bruised  and  numb?  Did  something  of  the  man's 
suffering,  of  his  love  and  of  his  despair  appear — despite 
his  efforts — upon  his  face  and  in  the  depth  of  his  glance? 
— and  thus  made  visible  did  they — even  through  their  com- 
pelling intensity — cause  that  invisible  barrier  of  social 
prejudices  to  totter  and  to  break?  It  were  difficult  to  say. 
Certain  it  is  that  Crystal's  whole  heart  warmed  to  the 
stranger  as  it  had  never  warmed  before.     She  felt  that 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    115 

here  was  a  man  standing  before  her  now,  whose  promises 
would  never  be  mere  idle  words,  whose  deeds  would  speak 
more  loudly  than  his  tongue.  She  felt  that  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  enmity  which  encompassed  her  and  her  father  in 
their  newly  regained  home  and  land,  here  at  any  rate  was 
a  friend  on  whom  they  could  count  to  help,  to  counsel 
and  to  accomplish.  And  deep  down  in  the  very  bottom 
of  her  soul  there  was  a  curious  unexplainable  longing  that 
circumstances  should  compel  her  to  ask  one  day  for  his 
help,  and  a  sweet  knowledge  that  that  help  would  be  ably 
rendered  and  pleasing  to  receive. 

But  for  the  moment,  of  course,  there  was  nothing  that 
she  could  ask :  she  would  be  married  in  a  couple  of  days — 
alas!  so  soon! — and  after  that  it  would  be  to  her  hus- 
band that  she  must  look  for  devotion,  for  guidance  and  for 
sympathy. 

A  little  sigh  of  regret  escaped  her  lips,  and  she  said 
gently : 

"I  thank  you,  Sir,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  for 
the  words  of  friendship  which  you  have  spoken.  I  shall 
never  forget  them,  never!  and  if  at  any  time  in  my  life 
I  am  in  trouble  .  .  ." 

"Which  God  forbid!"  he  broke  in  fervently. 

"If  any  time  I  have  need  of  a  friend,"  she  resumed,  "I 
feel  that  I  should  find  one  in  you.  Oh!  if  only  I  could 
think  that  you  would  extend  your  devotion  to  my  poor 
country,  and  to  our  King  .  .  ."  she  exclaimed  with  pas- 
sionate earnestness. 

"You  love  your  country  very  dearly.  Mademoiselle,"  he 
rejoined. 

"I  think  that  I  love  France  more  than  anything  else  in 
the  world,"  she  replied,  "and  I  feel  that  there  is  no  sacrifice 
which  I  would  deem  too  great  to  offer  up  for  her." 

"And  by  France  you  mean  the  Bourbon  dynasty,"  he 
said  almost  involuntarily,  and  with  an  impatient  little  sigh. 


116  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"I  mean  the  King,  by  the  grace  of  God!"  she  retorted 
proudly. 

She  had  thrown  back  her  head  with  an  air  of  challenge 
as  she  said  this,  meeting  his  glance  eye  to  eye :  she  looked 
strong  and  wilful  all  of  a  sudden,  no  longer  girlish  and 
submissive.  And  to  the  man  who  loved  her,  this  trait  of 
power  and  latent  heroism  added  yet  another  to  the  many 
charms  which  he  saw  in  her.  Loyal  to  her  country  and  to 
her  king  she  would  be  loyal  in  all  things — to  husband,  kin- 
dred and  to  friends. 

But  he  realised  at  the  same  time  how  impossible  it  would 
be  for  any  man  to  win  her  love  if  he  were  an  enemy  to 
her  cause.  St.  Genis — royalist,  emigre,  retrograde  like  her- 
self— had  obviously  won  his  way  to  her  heart  chiefly  by 
the  sympathy  of  his  own  convictions.  But  what  of  de 
Marmont,  to  whom  she  was  on  the  eve  of  plighting  her 
troth  ?  de  Marmont  the  hot-headed  Bonapartist  who  owned 
but  one  god — Napoleon — and  yet  had  deliberately,  and 
with  cynical  opportunism  hidden  his  fanatical  aims  and  be- 
liefs from  the  woman  whom  he  had  wooed  and  won  ? 

The  thought  of  that  deception — and  of  the  awakening 
which  would  await  the  girl-wife  on  the  very  morrow  of  her 
wedding-day  mayhap,  was  terribly  repellent  to  Clyffurde's 
straightforward,  loyal  nature,  and  bitter  was  the  contention 
within  his  soul  as  he  found  himself  at  the  cross-roads  of 
a  divided  duty.  Every  instinct  of  chivalry  towards  the 
woman  loudly  demanded  that  he  should  warn  her — ^now 
— at  once — ^before  it  was  too  late — before  she  had  actually 
pledged  her  life  and  future  to  a  man  whom  her  very 
soul — if  she  knew  the  truth — would  proclaim  a  renegade 
and  a  traitor;  and  every  instinct  of  loyalty  to  the  man 
— ^that  male  solidarity  of  sex  which  will  never  permit  one 
man — if  he  be  a  gentleman — to  betray  another — prompted 
him  to  hold  his  peace. 

Crystal's   gentle  voice   fell   like   dream-tones   upon   his 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  117 

ear.  Vaguely  only  did  he  hear  what  she  said.  She  was 
still  speaking  of  France,  of  all  that  the  country  had  suf- 
fered and  all  that  was  due  to  her  from  her  sons  and  daugh- 
ters:  she  spoke  of  the  King,  God's  own  anointed  as  she 
called  him,  endowed  with  rights  divine,  and  all  the  while 
his  thoughts  were  far  away,  flying  on  the  wings  of  memory 
to  the  little  hamlet  among  the  mountains  where  two  en- 
thusiasts had  exhausted  every  panegyric  in  praise  of  their 
own  hero,  whom  this  girl  called  a  usurper  and  a  brigand. 
He  remembered  every  trait  in  de  Marmont's  face,  every  in- 
flexion of  his  voice  as  he  said  with  almost  cruel  cynicism : 
"She  will  learn  to  love  me  in  time." 

That,  Clyffurde  knew  now.  Crystal  de  Cambray  would 
never  do.  Indifferent  to  de  Marmont  to-day,  she  would 
hate  and  loathe  him  the  day  that  she  discovered  how  in- 
famously he  had  deceived  her :  and  to  Clyffurde's  passionate 
temperament  the  thought  of  Crystal's  future  unhappiness 
was  absolutely  intolerable. 

Here  indeed  was  a  battle  far  more  strenuous  and  difficult 
of  issue  than  that  of  a  man's  will  against  his  passions: 
here  was  a  problem  far  more  difficult  to  solve  than  any  that 
had  assailed  Bobby  Clyffurde  throughout  his  life. 

His  heart  cried  out  "She  must  know  the  truth :  she  must. 
To-day!  this  minute,  while  there  was  yet  time!  Anon  she 
will  be  pledged  irrevocably  to  a  man  who  has  lied  to  her, 
whom  she  will  curse  as  a  renegade,  a  traitor,  false  to  his 
country,  false  to  his  king!" 

And  the  words  hovered  on  his  lips:  "Mademoiselle 
Crystal !  do  not  plight  your  troth  to  de  Marmont !  he  is  no 
friend  of  yours,  his  people  are  not  your  people !  his  God  is 
not  your  God !  and  there  is  neither  blessing  nor  holiness  in 
an  union  'twixt  you  and  him !" 

But  the  words  remained  unspoken,  because  the  unwritten 
code — the  bond  'twixt  man  and  man — ^tried  to  still  this  natu- 
ral cry  of  his  heart  and  reason  argued  that  he  must  hold 


118  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

his  peace.  His  heart  rebelled,  contending  that  to  remain 
silent  was  cowardly — that  his  first  duty  was  to  the  woman 
whom  he  loved  better  than  his  soul,  whilst  ingrained  prin- 
ciples, born  and  bred  in  the  bone  of  him,  threw  themselves 
into  the  conflict,  warning  him  that  if  he  spoke  he  would 
be  no  better  than  an  informer,  meriting  the  contempt  alike 
of  those  whom  he  wished  to  help  and  of  the  man  whom  he 
would  betray. 

It  was  one  sound  coming  from  below  which  settled  the 
dispute  'twixt  heart  and  reason — the  sound  of  de  Mar- 
mont's  voice  which  though  he  was  apparently  speaking  of 
indifferent  matters  had  that  same  triumphant  ring  in  it 
which  Clyffurde  had  heard  at  Notre  Dame  de  Vaulx  this 
morning. 

The  sound  had  caused  Crystal  to  give  a  quick  gasp  and  to 
clasp  her  hands  against  her  breast,  as  she  said  with  a 
nervous  little  laugh : 

"Imagine  how  happy  we  are  to  have  M.  de  Marmont's 
support  in  this  terrible  crisis!  His  influence  in  Grenoble 
and  in  the  whole  province  is  very  great :  his  word  in  the 
town  itself  may  incline  the  whole  balance  of  pubUc  feeling 
on  the  side  of  the  King,  and  who  knows,  it  may  even  help 
to  strengthen  the  loyalty  of  the  troops.  Oh !  that  Corsican 
brigand  little  guesses  what  kind  of  welcome  we  in  the 
Dauphine  are  preparing  for  him!" 

Her  enthusiasm,  her  trust,  her  loyalty  ended  the  con- 
flict in  Clyflfurde's  mind  far  more  effectually  than  any  sober 
reasoning  could  have  done.  He  realised  in  a  moment  that 
neither  abstract  principles,  nor  his  own  feelings  in  the  mat- 
ter, were  of  the  slightest  account  at  such  a  juncture. 

What  was  obvious,  certain,  and  not  to  be  shirked,  was 
duty  to  a  woman  who  was  on  the  point  of  being  shamefully 
deceived,  also  duty  to  the  man  whose  hospitality  he  had  en- 
joyed. To  remain  silent  would  be  cowardly — of  that  he 
became  absolutely  certain,  and  once  Bobby  had  made  up 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  119 

his  mind  what  duty  was  no  power  on  earth  could  make  him 
swerve  from  its  fulfilment. 

"Mile.  Crystal,"  he  began  slowly  and  deliberately,  "just 
now,  when  I  was  bold  enough  to  offer  you  my  friendship, 
you  deigned  to  accept  it,  did  you  not?" 

"Indeed  I  did,  Sir,"  she  replied,  a  little  astonished. 
"Why  should  you  ask?" 

"Because  the  time  has  come  sooner  than  I  expected  for 
me  to  prove  the  truth  of  that  offer  to  you.  There  is  some- 
thing which  I  must  say  to  you  which  no  one  but  a  friend 
ought  to  do.     May  I?" 

But  before  she  could  frame  the  little  "Yes!"  which  al- 
ready trembled  on  her  lips,  her  father's  voice  and  de 
Marmont's  rang  out  from  the  further  end  of  the  room 
itself. 

The  folding  doors  had  been  thrown  open:  M.  le  Comte 
and  his  son-in-law  elect  were  on  the  point  of  entering  and 
had  paused  for  a  moment  just  under  the  lintel.  De  Mar- 
mont  was  talking  in  a  loud  voice  and  apparently  in  re- 
sponse to  something  which  M.  le  Comte  had  just  told  him. 

"Ah !"  he  said,  "Mme.  la  Duchesse  will  be  leaving  Bres- 
talou?  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  Why  should  she  go  so 
soon?" 

"An  affair  of  business,  my  dear  de  Marmont,"  replied 
the  Comte.    "I  will  tell  you  about  it  at  an  early  opportunity." 

After  which  there  was  a  hubbub  of  talk  in  the  corridors 
outside,  the  sound  of  greetings,  the  pleasing  confusion  of 
questions  and  answers  which  marks  the  simultaneous  ar- 
rival of  several  guests. 

Crystal  rose  and  turned  to  Bobby  with  a  smile. 

"You  will  have  to  tell  me  some  other  time,"  she  said 
lightly.     "Don't  forget!" 

The  psychological  moment  had  gone  by  and  Clyffurde 
cursed  himself  for  having  fought  too  long  against  the 
promptings  of  his  heart  and  lost  the  precious  moments 


120  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

which  might  have  changed  the  whole  of  Crystal's  future. 
He  cursed  himself  for  not  having  spoken  sooner,  now  that 
he  saw  de  Marmont  with  glowing  eyes  and  ill-concealed  tri- 
umph approach  his  beautiful  fiancee  and  with  the  air  of 
a  conqueror  raise  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

She  looked  very  pale,  and  to  the  man  who  loved  her  so 
ardently  and  so  hopelessly  it  seemed  as  if  she  gave  a 
curious  little  shiver  and  that  for  one  brief  second  her  blue 
eyes  flashed  a  pathetic  look  of  appeal  up  to  his. 

VI 

M.  le  Comte's  guests  followed  closely  on  the  trium- 
phant bridegroom's  heels :  M.  le  prefet,  fussy  and  nerv- 
ous, secretly  delighted  at  the  idea  of  affixing  his  official 
signature  to  such  an  aristocratic  contrat  de  manage  as 
was  this  between  Mile,  de  Cambray  de  Brestalou  and  M. 
Victor  de  Marmont,  own  nephew  to  Marshal  the  due  de 
Raguse;  Madame  la  prefete,  resplendent  in  the  latest  fash- 
ion from  Paris,  the  Due  and  Duchesse  d'Embrun,  cousins 
of  the  bride,  the  Vicomte  de  Genevois  and  his  mother,  who 
was  Abbess  of  Pont  Haut  and  godmother  by  proxy  to 
Crj'stal  de  Cambray;  whilst  General  Marchand,  in  com- 
mand of  the  troops  of  the  district,  fresh  from  the  Council 
of  War  which  he  had  hastily  convened,  was  trying  to  hide 
behind  a  dSbonnaire  manner  all  the  anxiety  which  "the  brig- 
and's" march  on  Grenoble  was  causing  him. 

The  chief  notabilities  of  the  province  had  assembled  to 
do  honour  to  the  occasion,  later  on  others  would  come, 
lesser  lights  by  birth  and  position  than  this  select  crowd 
who  would  partake  of  the  souper  des  fiangailles  before  the 
contrat  was  signed  in  their  presence  as  witnesses  to  the 
transaction. 

Everyone  was  talking  volubly:  the  ogre's  progress 
through  France — no  longer  to  be  denied — was  the  chief 
subject  of  conversation.     Some  spoke  of  it  with  contempt, 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  121 

others  with  terror.  The  ex-Bonapartists  Fourier  and 
Marchand  were  loudest  in  their  curses  against  "the 
usurper." 

Clyffurde,  silent  and  keeping  somewhat  aloof  from  the 
brilliant  throng,  saw  that  de  Marmont  did  not  enter  into 
any  of  these  conversations.  He  kept  resolutely  close  to 
Crystal,  and  spoke  to  her  from  time  to  time  in  a  whisper, 
and  always  with  that  assured  air  of  the  conqueror,  which 
grated  so  unpleasantly  on  Clyffurde's  irritable  nerves. 

The  Comte,  affable  and  gracious,  spoke  a  few  words  to 
each  of  his  guests  in  turn,  whilst  Mme.  la  Duchesse  dou- 
airiere  d'Agen  was  talking  openly  of  her  forthcoming  re- 
turn journey  to  the  North. 

"I  came  in  great  haste,"  she  said  loudly  to  the  circle 
of  ladies  gathered  around  her,  "for  my  little  Crystal's  wed- 
ding. But  I  was  in  the  middle  of  a  Lenten  retreat  at  the 
Sacred  Heart,  and  I  only  received  permission  from  my 
confessor  to  spend  three  days  in  all  this  gaiety." 

"When  do  you  leave  us  again,  Mme.  la  Duchesse?" 
queried  Mile.  Marchand,  the  General's  daughter,  in  a 
honeyed  voice. 

"On  Tuesday,  directly  after  the  religious  ceremony, 
Mademoiselle,"  replied  Madame,  whilst  M.  le  prefet  tried 
to  look  unconcerned.  He  had  brought  the  money  over  as 
Mme.  la  Duchesse  had  directed.  Twenty-five  millions  of 
francs  in  notes  and  drafts  had  been  transferred  from  the 
cellar  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  his  own  pockets  first  and 
then  into  the  keeping  of  Madame.  He  had  driven  over 
from  the  Hotel  de  Ville  in  his  private  coach,  he  himself  in 
an  agony  of  fear  every  time  the  road  looked  lonely,  or  he 
heard  the  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  upon  the  road  behind  him 
— for  there  might  be  mounted  highwaymen  about.  Now  he 
felt  infinitely  relieved;  he  had  shifted  all  responsibility  of 
that  vast  sum  of  money  on  to  more  exalted  shoulders  than 
his  own,  and  inwardly  he  was  marvelling  how  coolly  Mme. 


122  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

la  Duchesse  seemed  to  be  taking  such  an  awful  responsi- 
bility. 

Now  Hector  threw  open  the  great  doors  and  announced 
that  M.  le  Comte  was  served.  Through  the  vast  corridor 
beyond  appeared  a  vista  of  liveried  servants  in  purple  and 
canary,  wearing  powdered  perruque,  silk  stockings  and 
buckled  shoes. 

There  was  a  general  hubbub  in  the  room,  the  men  moved 
towards  the  ladies  who  had  been  assigned  to  them  for 
partners.  M.  le  Comte  in  his  grandest  manner  approached 
Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Embrun  in  order  to  conduct  her  down 
to  supper.  An  air  of  majestic  grandeur,  of  solemnity  and 
splendid  decorum  pervaded  the  fine  apartment;  it  sought 
out  every  corner  of  the  vast  reception  room,  flickered 
round  every  wax  candle;  it  spread  itself  over  the  monu- 
mental hearth,  the  stiff  brocade-covered  chairs,  the  gilt 
consoles  and  tall  mirrors.  It  emanated  alike  from  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  and  the  pompousness 
of  his  majordomo.  Hector  in  fact  appeared  at  this  moment 
as  the  high  priest  in  a  temple  of  good  manners  and  bon  ton : 
the  muscles  of  his  face  were  rigid,  his  mouth  was  set  as  if 
ready  to  pronounce  sacrificial  words;  in  his  right  hand  he 
carried  a  gold-headed  wand,  emblem  of  his  high  office. 

But  suddenly  there  was  a  disturbance — an  unseemly  noise 
came  from  the  further  end  of  the  corridor,  where  rose  the 
magnificent  staircase.  Hector's  face  became  a  study  in 
rapidly  changing  expressions:  from  pompousness,  to  as- 
tonishment, then  horror,  and  finally  wrath  when  he  realised 
that  an  intruder  in  stained  cloth  clothes  and  booted  and 
spurred  was  actually  making  his  way  through  the  ranks  of 
liveried  and  gaping  servants  and  loudly  demanding  to  speak 
with  M.  le  Comte. 

Such  an  unseemly  disturbance  had  not  occurred  at  the 
Chateau  de  Brestalou  since  Hector  had  been  installed  there 
as  majordomo  nearly  twelve  months  ago,  and  he  was  on 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    123 

the  point  of  literally  throwing  himself  upon  the  impious 
malapert  who  thus  dared  to  thrust  his  ill-clad  person  upon 
the  brilliant  company,  when  he  paused — more  aghast  than 
before.  In  this  same  impious  malapert  he  had  recognised 
M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis ! 

The  young  man  looked  to  be  labouring  under  terrible  ex- 
citement: his  face  was  flushed  and  he  was  panting  as  if 
he  had  been  running  hard : 

"M.  le  Comte!"  he  cried  breathlessly  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  Hector,  "tell  M.  le  Comte  that  I  must 
speak  with  him  at  once." 

"But  M.  le  Marquis  .  .  .  M.  le  Marquis  .  .  ." 

This  was  all  that  poor,  bewildered  Hector  could  stam- 
mer :  his  slowly-moving  brain  was  torn  between  the  duties 
of  his  position  and  his  respect  for  M.  le  Marquis,  and  in 
the  struggle  the  worthy  man  was  enduring  throes  of  anx- 
iety. 

Fortunately  M.  le  Comte  himself  put  an  end  to  Hector's 
dilemma.  He  had  recognised  St.  Genis'  voice.  Unlike  his 
majordomo,  he  knew  at  once  that  something  terribly  grave 
must  have  happened,  else  the  young  man  would  never  have 
committed  such  a  serious  breach  of  good  manners.  And  M. 
le  Comte  himself  was  never  at  a  loss  how  to  turn  any  situa- 
tion to  a  dignified  and  proper  issue :  he  murmured  a  quick 
and  courteous  apology  to  Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Embrun  and 
a  comprehensive  one  to  all  his  guests,  then  he  hastened  to 
meet  St.  Genis  at  the  door. 

Already  St.  Genis  had  entered.  His  rough  clothes  and 
muddy  boots  looked  strangely  in  contrast  to  the  immacu- 
late get-up  of  the  Comte's  guests,  but  of  this  he  hardly 
seemed  to  be  aware.  His  face  was  flushed ;  with  his  right 
hand  he  clutched  a  small  riding  cane,  and  his  glowering 
dark  eyes  swept  a  rapid  glance  over  every  one  in  the 
room. 

And  to  the  Comte  he  said  hoarsely :    "I  must  offer  you 


124  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

my  humblest  apologies,  my  dear  Comte,  for  obtruding  my 
very  untidy  person  upon  you  at  this  hour.  I  have  walked 
all  the  way  from  Grenoble,  as  I  could  not  get  a  hackney- 
coach,  else  I  had  been  here  earlier  and  spared  you  this 
unpleasantness." 

"You  are  always  welcome  in  this  house,  my  good  Mau- 
rice," said  the  Comte  in  his  loftiest  manner,  "and  at  any 
hour  of  the  day." 

And  he  added  with  a  certain  tone  of  dignified  reproach : 
"I  did  ask  you  to  be  my  guest  to-night,  if  you  remember." 

"And  I,"  said  St.  Genis,  "was  churlish  enough  to  refuse. 
I  would  not  have  come  now  only  that  I  felt  I  might  be  in 
time  to  avert  the  most  awful  catastrophe  that  has  yet 
fallen  upon  your  house." 

Again  his  restless,  dark  eyes — sullen  and  wrathful  and 
charged  with  a  look  of  rage  and  of  hate — wandered  over 
the  assembled  company.  The  look  frightened  the  ladies. 
They  took  to  clinging  to  one  another,  standing  in  compact 
little  groups  together,  like  frightened  birds,  watchful  and 
wide-eyed.  They  feared  that  the  young  man  was  mad. 
But  the  men  exchanged  significant  glances  and  significant 
smiles.  They  merely  thought  that  St.  Genis  had  been 
drinking,  or  that  jealousy  had  half -turned  his  brain. 

Only  Clyffurde,  who  stood  somewhat  apart  from  the 
others,  knew — by  some  unexplainable  intuition — what  it 
was  that  had  brought  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  to  this  house 
in  this  excited  state  and  at  this  hour.  He  felt  excited  too, 
and  mightily  thankful  that  the  catastrophe  would  be  brought 
about  by  others — not  by  himself. 

But  all  his  thoughts  were  for  Crystal,  and  an  instinctive 
desire  to  stand  by  her  and  to  shield  her  if  necessar}^  from 
some  unknown  or  unguessed  evil,  made  him  draw  nearer  to 
her.  She  stood  on  the  fringe  of  the  little  crowd — as  iso- 
lated as  Bobby  was  himself. 

De  Marmont — whose  face  had  become  the  colour  of  dead 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    125 

ashes — had  left  her  side :  one  step  at  a  time  and  very  slowly 
he  was  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to  St.  Genis,  as  if  the  lat- 
ter's  wrath-filled  eyes  were  drawing  him  against  his  will. 

At  the  young  man's  ominous  words,  M.  le  Comte's  sunken 
cheeks  grew  a  shade  more  pale. 

"What  catastrophe,  mon  Dieu!"  he  exclaimed,  "could  fall 
on  my  house  that  would  be  worse  than  twenty  years  of 
exile?" 

"An  alliance  with  a  traitor,  M.  le  Comte,"  said  St.  Genis 
firmly. 

A  gasp  went  round  the  room,  a  sigh,  a  cry.  The  women 
looked  in  mute  horror  from  one  man  to  the  other,  the 
men  already  had  their  right  hand  on  their  swords.  But 
Clyffurde's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Crystal,  who  pale,  silent, 
rigid  as  a  marble  statue,  with  lips  parted  and  nostrils  quiver- 
ing, stood  not  five  paces  away  from  him,  her  dilated  eyes 
wandering  ceaselessly  from  the  face  of  St.  Genis  to  that 
of  de  Marmont  and  thence  to  that  of  her  father.  But 
beyond  that  look  of  tense  excitement  she  revealed  nothing 
of  what  she  thought  and  felt. 

Already  de  Marmont — his  hand  upon  his  sword — had 
advanced  menacingly  towards  St.  Genis. 

"M.  le  Marquis,"  he  said  between  set  teeth,  "you  will, 
by  God !  eat  those  words,  or " 

"Eat  my  words,  man?"  retorted  St.  Genis  with  a  harsh 
laugh.  "By  Heaven!  have  I  not  come  here  on  purpose 
to  throw  my  words  into  your  lying  face?" 

There  was  a  brief  but  violent  skirmish,  for  de  Marmont 
had  made  a  movement  as  if  he  meant  to  spring  at  his  rival's 
throat,  and  General  Marchand  and  the  Vicomte  de  Genevois, 
who  happened  to  be  near,  had  much  ado  to  seize  and  hold 
him :  even  so  they  could  not  stop  the  hoarse  cries  which  he 
uttered : 

"Liar!  Liar!  Liar!  Let  me  go!  Let  me  get  to  him! 
I  must  kill  him!     I  must  kill  him!" 


126  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

The  Comte  interposed  his  dignified  person  between  the 
two  men. 

"Maurice,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  calm  and  dispassionate 
reproof,  "your  conduct  is  absolutely  unjustifiable.  You 
seem  to  forget  that  you  are  in  the  presence  of  ladies  and 
of  my  guests.  If  you  had  a  quarrel  with  M.  de  Mar- 
mont.  .  .  ." 

"A  quarrel;  my  dear  Comte  ?"  exclaimed  St.  Genis,  "nay, 
'tis  no  quarrel  I  have  with  him :  and  my  conduct  would  have 
been  a  thousand  times  more  vile  if  I  had  not  come  to-night 
and  stopped  his  hand  from  touching  that  of  Mile.  Crystal 
de  Cambray — his  hand  which  was  engaged  less  than  two 
hours  ago  in  affixing  to  the  public  buildings  of  Grenoble 
the  infamous  message  of  the  Corsican  brigand  to  the  army 
and  the  people  of  France." 

A  hoarse  murmur — a  sure  sign  that  men  or  women  are 
afraid — came  from  every  corner  of  the  room. 

"The  message? — What  message?" 

Some  people  turned  instinctively  to  M.  le  prefet,  others 
to  General  Marchand.  Every  one  knew  that  Bonaparte 
had  landed  on  the  Littoral,  every  one  had  heard  the  rumour 
that  he  was  marching  in  triumph  through  Provence  and  the 
Dauphine — ^but  no  one  had  altogether  believed  this — as  for 
a  message — a  proclamation — a  call  to  the  army — and  this  in 
Grenoble  itself.  No  one  had  heard  of  that — every  one 
had  been  at  home,  getting  dressed  for  this  festive  function, 
thinking  of  good  suppers  and  of  wedding  bells.  It  was  as 
if  after  a  clap  of  thunder  and  a  flash  of  lightning  the  house 
was  found  to  be  in  flames.  M.  le  prefet  in  answer  to 
these  mute  queries  had  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  General 
Marchand  looked  grim  and  silent. 

But  St.  Genis  with  arm  uplifted  and  shaking  hand  pointed 
a  finger  at  de  Marmont. 

"Ask  him,"  he  cried.  "Ask  him,  my  dear  Comte,  ask  the 
miserable  traitor  who  with   lies  and   damnable  treachery 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  127 

has  stolen  his  way  into  your  house,  has  stolen  your  regard, 
your  hospitality,  and  was  on  the  point  of  stealing  your 
most  precious  treasure — your  daughter!  Ask  him!  He 
knows  every  word  of  that  infamous  message  by  heart!  I 
doubt  not  but  a  copy  of  it  is  inside  his  coat  now.  Ask 
him!  General  Mouton-Duveret  met  him  outside  Grenoble 
in  company  with  that  cur  Emery  and  I  saw  him  with  mine 
own  eyes  distributing  these  hellish  papers  among  our 
townspeople  and  pinning  them  up  at  the  street-comers  of 
our  city." 

While  St.  Genis  was  speaking — or  rather  screaming — 
for  his  voice,  pitched  high,  seemed  to  fill  the  entire  room — 
every  glance  was  fixed  upon  de  Marmont.  Every  one  of 
course  expected  a  contradiction  as  hot  and  intemperate  as 
was  the  accusation.  It  was  unthinkable,  impossible  that 
what  St.  Genis  said  could  be  true.  They  all  knew  de  Mar- 
mont well.  Nephew  of  the  Due  de  Raguse  who  had  borne 
the  lion's  share  in  surrendering  Paris  to  the  allies  and  bring- 
ing about  the  downfall  of  the  Corsican  usurper,  he  was  one 
of  the  most  trusted  members  of  the  royalist  set  in  Dauphine. 
They  had  talked  quite  freely  before  him,  consulted  with  him 
when  local  Bonapartism  appeared  uncomfortably  rampant. 
De  Marmont  was  one  of  themselves. 

And  yet  he  said  nothing  even  now  when  St.  Genis  ac- 
cused him  and  hurled  insult  upon  insult  at  him: — he  said 
nothing  to  refute  the  awful  impeachment,  to  justify  his 
conduct,  to  explain  his  companionship  with  Emery.  His 
face  was  still  livid,  but  it  was  with  rage — not  indignation. 
Marchand  and  Genevois  still  held  him  by  the  arms,  else 
he  and  St.  Genis  would  have  been  at  one  another's  throat 
before  now.  But  his  gestures  as  he  struggled  to  free  him- 
self, the  imprecations  which  he  uttered  were  those  of 
a  man  who  was  baffled  and  found  out— not  of  one  who  is 
innocent. 

But  as  St.  Genis  continued  to  speak  and  worked  himself 


128  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

up  every  moment  into  a  still  greater  state  of  excitement,  de 
Marmont  gradually  seemed  to  calm  down.  He  ceased  to 
curse:  he  ceased  to  struggle,  and  on  his  face — which  still 
was  livid — there  gradually  crept  a  look  of  determination 
and  of  defiance.  He  dug  his  teeth  into  his  under  lip  until 
tiny  drops  of  blood  appeared  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth 
and  trickled  slowly  down  his  chin. 

Marchand  and  Genevois  relaxed  the  grip  upon  his  arms, 
since  he  no  longer  fought,  and  thus  released  he  contrived  to 
pull  himself  together.  He  tossed  back  his  head  and  looked 
his  infuriated  accuser  boldly  in  the  face. 

By  the  time  St.  Genis  paused  in  his  impassioned  denun- 
ciation, he  had  himself  completely  under  control :  only  his 
eyes  appeared  to  glow  with  an  unnatural  fire,  and  little 
beads  of  moisture  appeared  upon  his  brow  and  matted  the 
dark  hair  against  his  forehead.  The  Comte  de  Cambray 
at  this  juncture  would  certainly  have  interposed  with  one 
of  those  temperate  speeches,  full  of  dignity  and  brimming 
over  with  lofty  sentiments,  which  he  knew  so  well  how 
to  deliver,  but  de  Marmont  gave  him  no  time  to  begin. 
When  St.  Genis  paused  for  breath,  he  suddenly  freed  him- 
self completely  with  a  quick  movement,  from  Marchand's 
and  Genevois'  hold;  and  then  he  turned  to  the  Comte  and 
to  the  rest  of  the  company : 

"And  what  if  I  did  pin  the  Emperor's  proclamation  on  the 
walls  of  Grenoble,"  he  said  proudly  and  with  a  tremor 
of  enthusiasm  in  his  voice,  "the  Emperor,  whom  treachery 
more  vile  than  any  since  the  days  of  the  Iscariot  sent 
into  humiliation  and  exile !  The  Emperor  has  come  back !" 
cried  the  young  devotee  with  that  extraordinary  fervour 
which  Napoleon  alone — of  all  men  that  have  ever  walked 
upon  this  earth — <was  able  to  suscitate :  "his  Imperial  eagles 
once  more  soar  over  France  carrying  on  their  wings  her 
honour  and  glory  to  the  outermost  corners  of  Europe. 
His  proclamation  is  to  his  people  who  have  always  loved 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  129 

him,  to  his  soldiers  who  in  their  hearts  have  always  been 
true  to  him.  His  proclamation?"  he  added  as  with  a 
kind  of  exultant  war-cry  he  drew  a  roll  of  paper  from  his 
pocket  and  held  it  out  at  arm's  length  above  his  head,  "his 
proclamation?  Here  it  is!  Vive  I'Empereur!  by  the  grace 
of  God!" 

Who  shall  attempt  to  describe  the  feelings  of  all  those 
who  were  assembled  round  this  young  enthusiast  as  he 
hurled  his  challenge  right  in  the  face  of  those  who  called 
him  a  liar  and  a  traitor?  Surely  it  were  a  hard  task  for  the 
chronicler  to  search  into  the  minds  and  hearts  of  this  score 
of  men  and  women — who  worshipped  one  God  and  rever- 
enced one  King — at  the  moment  when  they  saw  that  King 
threatened  upon  his  throne,  their  faith  mocked  and  their 
God  blasphemed:  that  the  young  man  spoke  words  of 
truth  no  one  thought  of  denying.  Napoleon's  name  had 
the  power  to  strike  terror  in  the  heart  of  every  citizen  who 
desired  peace  above  all  things  and  of  every  royalist  who 
wished  to  see  King  Louis  in  possession  of  the  throne  of 
his  fathers.  But  the  army  which  had  fought  under  him, 
the  army  which  he  had  led  in  triumph  and  to  victory  from 
one  end  of  the  Continent  of  Europe  to  the  other,  that  army 
still  loved  him  and  had  never  been  rightly  loyal  to  King 
Louis.  The  horrors  of  war.  which  had  lain  so  heavily  over 
France  and  over  Europe  for  the  past  twenty  years  were 
painfully  vivid  still  in  everybody's  mind,  and  all  these 
horrors  were  intimately  associated  with  the  name  which 
stood  out  now  in  bold  characters  on  the  paper  which  de 
Marmont  was  triumphantly  waving. 

M.  le  Comte  had  become  a  shade  or  two  paler  than  he 
had  been  before:  he  looked  very  old,  very  careworn,  all  of 
a  sudden,  and  his  pale  eyes  had  that  look  in  them  which 
comes  into  the  eyes  of  the  old  after  years  of  sorrow  and 
of  regret. 

But  never  for  a  moment  did  he  depart  from  his  attitude 


130  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

of  dignity.  When  de  Marmont's  exultant  cry  of  "Vive 
I'Empereur!"  had  ceased  to  echo  round  the  majestic  walls 
of  this  stately  chateau,  he  straightened  out  his  spare  figure 
and  with  one  line  gesture  begged  for  silence  from  his 
guests. 

Then  he  said  very  quietly :  "M.  Marmont,  this  is  neither 
the  place  nor  the  opportunity  which  I  should  have  chosen 
for  confronting  you  with  all  the  lies  which  you  have  told 
in  the  past  ten  months  ever  since  you  entered  my  house 
as  an  honoured  guest.  But  M.  de  St.  Genis  has  left  me 
no  option.  Burning  with  indignation  at  your  treachery  he 
came  hot-foot  to  unmask  you,  before  my  daughter's  fair 
hand  had  affixed  her  own  honourable  name  beneath  that 
of  a  cheat  and  a  traitor.  .  .  .  Yes!  M.  de  Marmont,"  he 
reiterated  with  virile  force,  breaking  in  on  the  hot  pro- 
tests which  had  risen  to  the  young  man's  lips,  "no  one 
but  a  cheat  and  a  traitor  could  thus  have  wormed  himself 
into  the  confidence  of  an  old  man  and  of  a  young  girl !  No 
one  but  a  villainous  blackguard  could  have  contemplated  the 
abominable  deceptions  which  you  have  planned  against  me 
and  against  my  daughter." 

For  a  moment  or  two  after  the  old  man  had  finished 
speaking  Victor  de  Marmont  remained  silent.  There  were 
murmurs  of  indignation  among  the  guests,  also  of  approval 
of  the  Comte's  energetic  words.  De  Marmont  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  hostile  crowd  and  he  knew  it.  Here  was  no 
drawing-room  quarrel  which  could  be  settled  at  the  point 
of  a  sword.  Though — as  Fate  and  man  so  oft  ordain  it — 
a  woman  was  the  primary  reason  for  the  quarrel,  she  was 
not  its  cause:  and  the  hostility  expressed  against  him  by 
every  glance  which  de  Marmont  encountered  was  so  gen- 
eral and  so  great,  that  it  overawed  him  even  in  the  midst 
of  his  enthusiasm. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  he  said  at  last,  and  he  made  a  great  ef- 
fort to  appear  indifferent  and  unconcerned,  "I  wish  for 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  131 

your  daughter's  sake  that  M.  de  St.  Genis  had  chosen  some 
other  time  to  make  this  fracas.  We  who  have  learned  chiv- 
alry at  the  Emperor's  school  would  have  hit  our  enemy 
when  he  was  in  a  position  to  defend  himself.  This,  ob- 
viously, I  cannot  do  at  this  moment  without  trespassing 
still  further  upon  your  hospitality,  and  causing  Mile.  Crys- 
tal still  more  pain.  I  might  even  make  a  direct  appeal  to 
her,  since  the  decision  in  this  matter  rests,  I  imagine,  pri- 
marily with  her,  but  with  the  Emperor  at  our  gates,  with 
the  influence  of  his  power  and  of  his  pride  dominating  my 
every  thought,  I  will  with  your  gracious  permission  relieve 
you  of  my  unwelcome  presence  without  taking  another  leaf 
out  of  M.  de  St.   Genis'  book." 

"As  you  will.  Monsieur,"  said  the  Comte  stifHy. 

De  Alarmont  bowed  quite  ceremoniously  to  him,  and 
the  Comte — courtly  and  correct  to  the  last — returned  his 
salute  with  equal  ceremony.  Then  the  young  man  turned 
to  Crystal. 

For  the  first  time,  perhaps,  since  the  terrible  fracas  had 
begun,  he  realised  what  it  all  must  mean  to  her.  She  did 
not  try  to  evade  his  look,  or  to  turn  away  from  him.  On 
the  contrary  she  looked  him  straight  in  the  face,  and 
watched  him  while  he  approached  her,  without  retreating 
one  single  step.  But  she  watched  him  just  as  one  would 
watch  an  abject  and  revolting  cur,  that  was  too  vile  and 
too  mean  even  to  merit  a  kick. 

Crystal's  blue  eyes  were  always  expressive,  but  they  had 
never  been  so  expressive  as  they  were  just  then.  De  Maf- 
mont  met  her  glance  squarely,  and  he  read  in  it  everything 
that  she  meant  to  convey — her  contempt,  her  loathing,  her 
hatred — but  above  all  her  contempt.  So  overwhelming,  so 
complete  was  this  contempt  that  it  made  him  wince,  as  if 
he  had  been  struck  in  the   face  with  a  whip. 

He  stood  still,  for  he  knew  that  she  would  never  allow 
him  to  kiss  her  hand  in  farewell,  and  he  had  had  enough 


132  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

of  insults — he  knew  that  he  could  not  bear  that  final 
one. 

A  red  mist  suddenly  gathered  before  his  eyes,  a  mad 
desire  to  strike,  to  wound  or  to  kill,  and  with  it  a  wave 
of  passion — he  called  it  Love — for  this  woman,  such  as 
he  had  never  felt  for  her  before.  He  gave  her  back  with 
a  glance,  hatred  for  hatred,  but  whereas  her  hatred  for 
him  was  smothered  in  contempt,  his  for  her  was  leavened 
with  a  fierce  and  dominant  passion. 

All  this  had  taken  but  a  few  seconds  in  accomplishment. 
M.  le  Comte  had  not  done  more  than  give  a  sign  to  Hector 
to  see  M.  de  Marmont  safely  out  of  the  castle,  and  Maurice 
de  St.  Genis  had  only  had  time  to  think  of  interposing,  if 
de  Marmont  tried  to  take  Crystal's  hand. 

Only  a  few  seconds,  but  a  lifetime  of  emotion  was 
crammed  into  them.  Then  de  Marmont,  with  Crj'stal's 
look  of  loathing  still  eating  into  his  soul,  caught  sight  of 
Clyffurde  who  stood  close  by — Clyffurde  whose  one  thought 
throughout  all  this  unhappy  scene  had  been  of  Crystal, 
who  through  it  all  had  eyes  and  ears  only  for  her. 

Some  kind  of  instinct  made  the  young  girl  look  up  to 
him  just  then :  probably  only  in  response  to  a  wave  of 
memory  which  brought  back  to  her  at  that  very  moment, 
the  words  of  devotion  and  offer  of  service  which  he  had 
spoken  awhile  ago;  or  it  may  have  been  that  same  sense 
which  had  told  her  at  the  time  that  here  was  a  man  whom 
she  could  always  trust,  that  he  would  always  prove  a  friend, 
as  he  had  promised,  and  the  look  which  she  gave  him  was 
one  of  simple  confidence. 

But  de  Marmont  just  happened  to  intercept  that  look. 
He  had  never  been  jealous  of  Clyffurde  of  course.  Clyf- 
furde— the  foreigner,  the  bourgeois  tradesman — never 
could  under  any  circumstances  be  a  rival  to  reckon  with. 
At  any  other  time  he  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea  of 
Mile.  Crystal  de  Cambray  bestowing  the  slightest  favour 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  133 

upon  the  Englishman.  But  within  the  last  few  seconds 
everything  had  become  different.  Victor  de  Marmont,  the 
triumphant  and  wealthy  suitor  of  Mile,  de  Cambray,  had 
become  a  pariah  among  all  these  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
he  had  become  a  man  scorned  by  the  woman  whom  he 
had  wooed  and  thought  to  win  so  easily. 

The  fierce  love  engendered  for  Crystal  in  his  turbulent 
heart  by  all  the  hatred  and  all  the  scorn  which  she  lavished 
upon  him,  brought  an  unreasoning  jealousy  into  being. 
He  felt  suddenly  that  he  detested  Clyffurde.  He  remem- 
bered Clyffurde's  nationality  and  its  avowed  hatred  of  the 
hero  whom  he — de  Marmont — worshipped.  And  he  real- 
ised also  that  that  same  hatred  must  of  necessity  be  a  bond 
between  the  Englishman  and  Crystal  de  Cambray. 

Therefore — though  this  new  untamed  jealousy  seized 
hold  of  him  with  extraordinary  power,  though  it  brought 
that  ominous  red  film  before  his  eyes,  which  makes  a  man 
strike  out  blindly  and  stupidly  against  his  rival,  it  also 
suggested  to  de  Marmont  a  far  simpler  and  far  more  effi- 
cacious way  of  ridding  himself  once  for  all  of  any  fear 
of  rivalry  from  Clyffurde. 

When  he  had  bowed  quite  formally  to  Crystal  he  looked 
up  at  Bobby  and  gave  him  a  pleasant  and  friendly  nod. 

"I  suppose  you  will  be  coming  with  me,  my  good  Clyf- 
furde," he  said  lightly,  "we  are  rowing  in  the  same  boat, 
you  and  I.  We  were  a  very  happy  party,  were  we  not  ?  you 
and  Emery  and  I  when  General  Mouton  met  us  outside 
Grenoble:  for  we  had  just  heard  the  glorious  news  that 
the  Emperor  is  marching  triumphantly  through  France." 

Then  he  turned  once  more  to  St.  Genis :  "Did  not,"  he 
said,  "the  General's  aide-de-camp  tell  you  that,  M.  de  St. 
Genis?" 

St.  Genis  had — during  these  few  seconds  while  de  Mar- 
mont held  the  centre  of  the  stage — succeeded  in  control- 
ling his  excitement,  at  any  rate  outwardly.     He  was  so 


134  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

absolutely  master  of  the  situation  and  had  put  his  success- 
ful rival  so  completely  to  rout,  that  the  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion helped  to  soothe  his  nerves:  and  when  de  Marmont 
spoke  directly  to  him,  he  was  able  to  reply  with  compara- 
tive calm. 

"Had  you,"  he  said  to  de  Marmont,  "attempted  to  deny 
the  accusation  which  I  have  brought  against  you,  I  was 
ready  to  confront  you  with  the  report  which  General  Mou- 
ton's  aide-de-camp  brought  into  the  town." 

"I  had  no  intention  of  denying  my  loyalty  to  the  Em- 
peror," rejoined  de  Marmont,  "but  I  would  like  to  know 
what  report  General  Mouton's  aide-de-camp  brought  into 
Grenoble.  The  worthy  General  did  not  belie  his  name,  I 
assure  you,  he  looked  mightily  scared  when  he  recognised 
Emery." 

"He  was  alone  with  his  aide-de-camp  and  in  his  coach," 
retorted  St.  Genis,  "whilst  that  traitor  Emery,  you  and  your 
friend  Mr.  Clyffurde  were  on  horseback — ^you  gave  him  the 
slip  easily  enough." 

"That's  true,  of  course,"  said  de  Marmont  simply.  "Well, 
shall  we  go,  my  dear  Clyffurde?" 

He  had  accomplished  the  purpose  of  his  jealousy  even 
more  effectually  than  he  could  have  wished.  He  looked 
round  and  saw  that  everyone  had  thrown  a  casual  glance  of 
contempt  upon  Qyffurde  and  then  turned  away  to  murmur 
with  scornful  indifference:  "I  always  mistrusted  that 
man."  Or :  "The  Comte  ought  never  to  have  had  the  fel- 
low in  the  house,"  while  the  words:  "English  spy!"  and 
"Informer"  were  on  every  lip. 

But  Clyffurde  had  made  no  movement  during  this  brief 
colloquy.  He  saw — ^just  as  de  Marmont  did — that  every- 
one was  listening  more  with  indifference  than  with  horror. 
He — the  stranger — was  of  so  little  consequence  after  all! 
— a  tradesman  and  an  Englishman — what  mattered  what 
his  poHtical  convictions  were?     De  Marmont  was  an  ob- 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR    135 

ject  of  hatred,  but  he — Clyffurde — was  only  one  of  con- 
tempt. 

He  heard  the  muttered  words:  "English  spy!"  "In- 
former!" and  others  of  still  more  overwhelming  disdain. 
But  he  cared  little  what  these  people  said.  He  knew  that 
they  would  never  trouble  to  hear  any  justification  from 
himself — they  would  not  worry  their  heads  about  him  a 
moment  longer  once  he  had  left  the  house  in  company  with 
de  Marmont. 

He  was  not  quite  sure  either  whether  de  Marmont's 
spite  had  been  directed  against  himself,  personally,  or  that 
it  was  merely  the  outcome  of  his  present  humiliating  po- 
sition. 

M.  le  Comte  had  not  bestowed  more  than  a  glance  upon 
him  and  that  from  under  haughtily  raised  brows  and  across 
half  the  width  of  the  room:  but  Crystal  had  looked  up 
to  him,  and  was  still  looking,  and  it  was  that  look  which 
had  driven  all  the  blood  from  Clyffurde's  face  and  caused 
his  lips  to  set  closely  as  if  with  a  sense  of  physical  pain. 

The  insults  which  her  father's  guests  were  overtly  mur- 
muring, she  had  in  her  mind  and  her  eyes  were  conveying 
them  to  him  far  more  plainly  than  her  lips  could  have 
done: 

"English  spy — traitor  to  friendship  and  to  trust — liar, 
deceiver,  hypocrite."  That  and  more  did  her  scornful 
glance  imply.  But  she  said  nothing.  He  tried  to  plead  with 
eyes  as  expressive  as  were  her  own,  and  she  merely  turned 
away  from  him,  just  as  if  he  no  longer  existed.  She  drew 
her  skirt  closer  round  her  and  somehow  with  that  gesture 
she  seemed  to  sweep  him  entirely  out  of  her  existence. 

Even  Mme.  la  Duchesse  had  not  one  glance  for  him.  To 
these  passionate,  hot-headed,  impulsive  royalists,  an  ad- 
herent of  the  Corsican  ogre  was  lower  than  the  scum  of 
the  earth.  They  loathed  de  Marmont  because  he  had  been 
one  of  themselves :  he  was  a  traitor,  and  not  one  man  there 


1G6  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

but  would  have  liked  to  see  him  put  up  against  a  wall  and 
summarily  shot.  But  the  stranger  they  wiped  out  of  their 
lives. 

Was  there  any  chance  for  Clyffurde,  if  he  tried  to  defend 
himself?  None  of  a  certainty.  He  could  not  call  the 
accusation  a  lie,  since  he  had  been  in  the  company  of  Emery 
and  of  de  Marmont  most  of  the  day,  and  mere  explanations 
would  have  fallen  on  deaf  and  unwilling  ears. 

Clyffurde  knew  this,  nor  did  he  attempt  any  explana- 
tion. There  is  a  certain  pride  in  the  heart  of  every  Eng- 
lish gentleman  which  in  moments  of  acute  crisis  rises  to  its 
full  power  and  height.  That  pride  would  not  allow  Clyf- 
furde to  utter  a  single  word  in  his  own  defence.  The 
futility  of  attempting  it  also  influenced  his  decision.  He 
scorned  the  idea  of  speaking  on  his  own  behalf,  words 
which  were  doomed  to  be  disbelieved. 

In  a  moment  he  had  found  himself  absolutely  isolated 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  not  far  from  the  hearth  where 
he  had  stood  a  little  while  ago  talking  to  Crystal,  and  close 
to  the  chair  where  she  had  sat  with  the  light  of  the  fire 
playing  upon  her  satin  gown.  The  cushions  still  bore 
the  impress  of  her  young  figure  as  she  had  leaned  up  against 
them:  the  sight  of  it  was  an  additional  pain  which  almost 
made  Clyffurde  wince. 

He  bowed  silently  and  very  low  to  Crystal  and  to  Mme. 
la  Duchesse,  and  then  to  all  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
cold-shouldered  him  with  such  contemptuous  ostentation. 
De  Marmont  with  head  erect  and  an  air  of  swagger  was 
already  waiting  for  him  at  the  door.  Clyffurde  in  taking 
leave  of  M.  le  Comte  made  a  violent  effort  to  say  at  any 
rate  the  one  word  which  weighed  upon  his  heart. 

"Will  you  at  least  permit  me,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  said,  "to 
thank  you  for  ..." 

But  already  the  Comte  had  interrupted  him,  even  before 
the  words  were  clearly  out  of  his  mouth. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  EMPEROR  137 

"I  will  not  permit  you,  Sir,"  he  broke  in  firmly,  "to  speak 
a  single  word  other  than  a  plain  denial  of  M.  de  St.  Genis' 
accusations  against  you." 

Then  as  Clyffurde  relapsed  into  silence,  M.  le  Comte  con- 
tinued with  haughty  peremptoriness : 

"A  plain  'yes'  or  'no'  will  suffice,  Sir.  Were  you  or 
were  you  not  in  the  company  of  those  traitors  Emery  and 
de  Marmont  when  General  Mouton-Duvernet  came  upon 
them  outside  Grenoble?" 

"1  was,"  replied  Clyffurde  simply. 

With  a  stiff  nod  of  the  head  the  Comte  turned  his  back 
abruptly  upon  him;  no  one  took  any  further  notice  of  the 
"English  spy."  The  accused  had  been  condemned  without 
enquiry  and  without  trial.  In  times  like  these  all  one's 
friends  must  be  above  suspicion.  Clyffurde  knew  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  With  a  quickly  suppressed  sigh, 
he  too  turned  away  and  in  his  habitual,  English,  dogged 
way  he  resolutely  set  his  teeth,  and  with  a  firm  soldierly 
step  walked  quietly  out  of  the  room. 

"Hector,  see  that  M.  de  Marmont's  coach  is  ready  for 
him,"  said  M.  le  Comte  with  well  assumed  indifference; 
"and  that  supper  is  no  longer  delayed." 

He  then  once  more  offered  his  arm  to  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
d'Embrun.  "Mme.  la  Duchesse,"  he  said  in  his  most 
courtly  manner,  "I  beg  that  you  will  accept  my  apologies  for 
this  unforeseen  interruption.  May  I  have  the  honour  of 
conducting  you  to  supper?" 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS 


De  Marmont,  having  successfully  shot  his  poisoned  arrow 
and  brought  down  his  enemy,  had  no  longer  any  ill-feeling 
against  Clyffurde.  His  jealousy  had  been  short-lived;  it 
was  set  at  rest  by  the  brief  episode  which  had  culminated  in 
the  Englishman's  final  exit  from  the  Castle  of  Brestalou. 

Not  a  single  detail  of  that  moving  little  episode  had 
escaped  de  Marmont's  keen  eyes:  he  had  seen  Crystal's 
look  of  positive  abhorrence  wherewith  she  had  regarded 
Qyffurde,  he  had  seen  the  gathering  up  of  her  skirts  away 
— as  it  were — from  the  contaminating  propinquity  of  the 
"English  spy." 

And  de  Marmont  was  satisfied. 

He  was  perfectly  ready  to  pick  up  the  strained  strands 
of  friendship  with  the  Englishman  and  affected  not  to 
notice  the  latter's  absorption  and  moodiness. 

"Can  I  drive  you  into  Grenoble,  my  good  Clyffurde?" 
he  asked  airily  as  he  paused  on  the  top  of  the  perron  steps, 
waiting  for  the  hackney  coach. 

"I  thank  you,"  replied  Clyffurde;  "I  prefer  to  walk." 

"It  is  eight  kilometres  and  a  pitch-dark  night." 

"I  know  my  way,  I  thank  you." 

"Just  as  you  like." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  began  humming  the 
"Marseillaise."  Clyffurde  started  walking  down  the  monu- 
mental steps. 

138 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  1S9 

"Well,  I'll  say  'good-night,'  de  Marmont,"  he  said  coldly. 

"And  'good-bye,'  too." 

"You  are  not  going  away?"  queried  the  other. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  get  the  means  of  going." 

"Troops  will  be  on  the  move  all  over  the  country  soon. 
Foreigners  will  be  interned.  You  will  have  some  difficulty 
in  getting  away." 

"I  know  that.  That's  why  I  want  to  make  arrange- 
ments as  early  as  possible." 

"Where  will  you  stay  in  the  meanwhile?" 

"Possibly  at  the  'Trois-Dauphins'  if  I  can  get  a  room." 

"I  shall  see  you  again  then.  The  Emperor  will  stay  there 
while  he  is  in  Grenoble.  Well,  good-night,  my  dear  friend," 
said  de  Marmont,  as  he  extended  a  cordial  hand  to  Clyf- 
furde,  who,  in  the  dark,  evidently  failed  to  see  it.  "And 
don't  take  the  insults  of  all  these  fools  too  much  to  heart." 
And  he  gave  an  expressive  nod  in  the  direction  of  the 
stately  castle  behind  him. 

"They  are  dolts,"  he  continued  airily;  "if  they  possessed 
a  grain  of  sense  they  would  have  kept  on  friendly  terms 
with  me.  As  that  old  fool's  son-in-law  I  could  have  saved 
him  from  all  the  reprisals  which  will  inevitably  fall  on  all 
these  royalist  traitors,  now  that  the  Emperor  has  come  into 
his  own  again." 

Clyffurde  was  half-way  down  the  stone  steps  when  these 
words  of  de  Marmont  struck  upon  his  ear.  Instinctively 
he  retraced  his  steps.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  impend- 
ing danger  to  Crystal  in  what  the  young  man  had  said. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  talking  about  reprisals?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh!  .  .  .  only  the  inevitable,"  replied  de  Marmont. 
"The  people  of  the  Dauphine  never  cared  for  these  royalists, 
you  know  .  .  .  and  didn't  learn  to  like  them  any  better 
in  these  past  eleven  months  since  the  Restoration.  M.  le 
Comte  de  Cambray  has  been  very  high  and  mighty  since 


140  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

his  return  from  exile.  He  may  yet  come  to  wish  that  he 
had  never  quitted  the  comfortable  little  provincial  town  in 
England  where  he  gave  drawing  lessons  and  French  les- 
sons to  some  very  bourgeois  boys.  .  .  .  But  here's  that 
coach  at  last!"  he  continued  with  that  jaunty  air  which 
he  had  assumed  since  turning  his  back  upon  the  reception 
halls  of  Brestalou.  "Are  you  sure  that  you  would  rather 
walk  than  drive  with  me  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Clyffurde  abruptly,  "I  am  not  sure.  Thank 
you  very  much.  I  think  that  if  you  don't  object  to  my 
somewhat  morose  company  I  would  like  a  lift  as  far  as 
Grenoble." 

He  wanted  to  make  de  Marmont  talk,  to  hear  what  the 
young  man  had  to  say.  From  it  he  thought  that  he  could 
learn  more  accurately  what  danger  would  threaten  Bresta- 
lou in  the  event  of  Napoleon's  successful  march  to  Paris. 

That  the  great  adventurer's  triumph  would  be  short- 
lived Clyffurde  was  perfectly  sure.  He  knew  the  tem- 
per of  England  and  believed  in  the  military  genius  of 
Wellington.  England  would  never  tolerate  for  a  moment 
longer  than  she  could  help  that  the  firebrand  of  Europe 
should  once  more  sit  upon  the  throne  of  France,  and 
unless  the  allies  had  greatly  altered  their  policy  in  the  past 
ten  months  and  refused  England  the  necessary  support, 
Wellington  would  be  more  than  a  match  for  the  decimated 
army  of  Bonaparte. 

But  a  few  weeks — months,  perhaps,  might  elapse  be- 
fore Napoleon  was  once  again  put  entirely  out  of  action 
— and  this  time  more  completely  and  more  effectually  than 
with  a  small  kingdom  wherein  to  dream  again  of  Euro- 
pean conquests ;  during  those  weeks  and  months  Brestalou 
and  its  inhabitants  would  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  man  from 
Corsica — the  island  of  unrest  and  of  never  sleeping  ven- 
detta. 

De  Marmont  was  ready  enough  to  talk.    He  knew  noth- 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  141 

ing,  of  course,  of  Napoleon's  plans  and  ideas  save  what 
Emery  had  told  him.  But  what  he  lacked  in  knowledge 
he  more  than  made  up  in  imagination.  Excitement  too 
had  made  him  voluble.  He  talked  freely  and  incessantly: 
'The  Emperor  would  do  this.  .  .  .  The  Emperor  will  never 
tolerate  that  .  .  ."  was  all  the  time  on  his  lips. 

He  bragged  and  he  swaggered,  launched  into  passionate 
eulogies  of  the  Emperor,  and  fiery  denunciations  of  his 
enemies.  Berthier,  Clark,  Foucher,  de  Marmont,  they  all 
deserved  death.  Ney  alone  was  to  be  pardoned,  for  Ney 
was  a  fine  soldier — always  supposing  that  Ney  would  re- 
pent. But  men  like  the  Comte  de  Cambray  were  a  pest 
in  any  country — mischief-making  and  intriguing.  Bah! 
the   Emperor  will  never  tolerate  them. 

Suddenly  Clyffurde — who  had  become  half -drowsy,  lulled 
to  somnolence  by  de  Marmont's  incessant  chatter  and  the 
monotonous  jog-trot  of  the  horses — woke  to  complete  con- 
sciousness. He  pricked  his  ears  and  in  a  moment  was  all 
attention. 

"They  think  that  they  can  deceive  me,"  de  Marmont 
was  saying  airily.  "They  think  that  I  am  as  great  a  fool 
as  they  are,  with  their  talk  of  Mme.  la  Duchesse's  jour- 
ney north,  directly  after  the  wedding!  Bah!  any  dolt 
can  put  two  and  two  together:  the  Comte  tells  me  in  one 
breath  that  he  had  a  visit  from  Fourier  in  the  afternoon, 
and  that  the  Duchesse — who  only  arrived  in  Brestalou  yes- 
terday— would  leave  again  for  Paris  on  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  and  he  tells  it  me  with  a  mysterious  air,  and 
adds  a  knowing  wink,  and  a  promise  that  he  would  ex- 
plain himself  more  fully  later  on.  I  could  have  laughed— 
if  it  were  not  all  so  miserably  stupid." 

He  paused  for  want  of  breath  and  tried  to  peer  through 
the  window  of  the  coach. 

"It  is  pitch-dark,"  he  said,  "but  we  can't  be  very  far  from 
the  city  now." 


142  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"I  don't  see,"  rejoined  Clyffurde,  ostentatiously  smother- 
ing a  yawn,  "what  M.  le  prefet's  visit  to  Brestalou  had 
to  do  with  the  Duchesse's  journey  to  the  north.  You 
have  got  intrigues  on  the  brain,  my  good  de  Marmont." 

And  with  well-feigned  indifference,  he  settled  himself 
more  cosily  into  the  dark  corner  of  the  carriage. 

De  Marmont  laughed.  "What  Fourier's  afternoon  visit 
has  to  do  with  Mme.  d'Agen's  journey?"  he  retorted,  "I'll 
tell  you,  my  good  Clyffurde.  Fourier  went  to  see  M.  le 
Comte  de  Cambray  this  afternoon  because  he  is  a  poltroon. 
He  is  terrified  at  the  thought  that  the  unfortunate  Em- 
press' money  and  treasure  are  still  lying  in  the  cellars 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  he  went  out  to  Brestalou  in 
order  to  consult  with  the  Comte  what  had  best  be  done 
with  the  money." 

"I  didn't  know  the  ex-Empress*  money  was  lying  in 
the  cellar  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,"  remarked  Clyffurde  with 
well-assumed  indifference. 

"Nor  did  I  until  Emery  told  me,"  rejoined  de  Marmont. 
"The  money  is  there  though :  stolen  from  the  Empress 
Marie  Louise  by  that  arch-intriguer  Talleyrand.  Twenty- 
five  millions  in  notes  and  drafts!  the  Emperor  reckons  on 
it  for  current  expenses  until  he  has  reached  Parig.  and 
taken  over  the  Treasury." 

"Even  then  I  don't  see  what  Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Agen 
has  to  do  with  it." 

"You  don't,"  said  de  Marmont  drily:  "but  I  did  in  a 
moment.  Fourier  wouldn't  keep  the  money  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville:  the  Comte  de  Cambray  would  not  allow  it  to 
be  deposited  in  his  house.  They  both  want  the  Bourbon 
to  have  it.  So — in  order  to  lull  suspicion — they  have  de- 
cided that  Madame  la  Duchesse  shall  take  the  money  to 
Paris." 

"Well !— perhaps !— "  said  Clyffurde  with  a  yawn.  "But 
are  we  not  in  Grenoble  yet?" 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  148 

Once  more  he  lapsed  into  silence,  closed  his  eyes  and 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  fell  asleep,  for  never  another 
word  did  de  Marmont  get  out  of  him,  until  Grenoble  was 
reached  and  the  rue  Montorge, 

Here  de  Marmont  had  his  lodgings,  three  doors  from  the 
"Hotel  des  Trois-Dauphins,"  where  fortunately  Clyffurde 
managed   to  secure  a  comfortable  room  for  himself. 

He  parted  quite  amicably  from  de  Marmont,  promising 
to  call  in  upon  him  in  the  morning.  It  would  be  foolish 
to  quarrel  with  that  young  wind-bag  now.  He  knew 
some  things,  and  talked  of  a  great  many  more. 

n 

Preparations  against  the  arrival  of  the  Corsican  ogre 
were  proceeding  apace.  General  Marchand  had  been  over- 
confident throughout  the  day — which  was  the  5th  of  March : 
"The  troops,"  he  said,  "were  loyal  to  a  man.  They  were 
coming  in  fast  from  Chambery  and  Vienne;  the  garrison 
would  and  could  repulse  that  band  of  pirates,  and  take 
upon  itself  to  fulfil  the  promise  which  Ney  had  made  to 
the  King — namely  to  bring  the  ogre  to  His  Majesty  bound 
and  gagged  in  an  iron  cage." 

But  the  following  day,  which  was  the  6th,  many  things 
occurred  to  shake  the  Commandant's  confidence:  Napo- 
leon's proclamation  was  not  only  posted  up  all  over  the 
town,  but  the  citizens  were  distributing  the  printed  leaflets 
among  themselves :  one  of  the  officers  on  the  staff  pointed 
out  to  General  Marchand  that  the  4th  regiment  of  ar- 
tillery quartered  in  Grenoble  was  the  one  in  which  Bona- 
parte had  served  as  a  lieutenant  during  the  Revolution — 
the  men,  it  was  argued,  would  never  turn  their  arms 
against  one  whom  they  had  never  ceased  to  idolize:  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  march  out  into  the  open  with  men 
whose  loyalty   was   so  very   doubtful. 

There  was  a  rumour  current  in  the  town  that  when 


144  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

the  men  of  the  5th  regiment  of  engineers  and  the  4th  of 
artillery  were  told  that  Napoleon  had  only  eleven  hundred 
men  with  him,  they  all  murmured  with  one  accord :  "And 
what  about  us?" 

Therefore  General  Marchand,  taking  all  these  facts  into 
consideration,  made  up  his  mind  to  await  the  ogre  inside 
the  walls  of  Grenoble.  Here  at  any  rate  defections  and 
desertions  would  be  less  likely  to  occur  than  in  the  field. 
He  set  to  work  to  organise  the  city  into  a  state  of  defence ; 
forty-seven  guns  were  put  in  position  upon  the  ramparts 
which  dominate  the  road  to  the  south,  and  he  sent  a  com- 
pany of  engineers  and  a  battalion  of  infantry  to  blow  up 
the  bridge  of  Ponthaut  at  La  Mure. 

The  royalists  in  the  city,  who  were  beginning  to  feel 
very  anxious,  had  assembled  in  force  to  cheer  these  troops 
as  they  marched  out  of  the  city.  But  the  attitude  of  the 
sapeurs  created  a  very  unpleasant  impression  :  they  marched 
out  in  disorder,  some  of  them  tore  the  white  cockade  from 
their  shakos,  and  one  or  two  cries  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 
were  distinctly  heard  in  their  ranks. 

At  La  Mure,  M.  le  Maire  argued  very  strongly  against 
the  destruction  of  the  bridge  of  Ponthaut:  "It  would  be 
absurd,"  he  said,  "to  blow  up  a  valuable  bridge,  since  not 
one  kilometre  away  there  was  an  excellent  ford  across 
which  Napoleon  could  march  his  troops  with  perfect  ease." 
The  sapeurs  murmured  an  assent,  and  their  officer.  Colonel 
Delessart,  feeling  the  temper  of  his  men,  did  not  dare  in- 
sist. 

He  quartered  them  at  La  Mure  to  await  the  arrival  of 
the  infantry,  and  further  orders  from  General  Marchand. 
When  the  5th  regiment  of  infantry  was  reported  to  have 
reached  Laffray,  Delessart  had  the  sapeurs  out  and  marched 
out  to  meet  them,  although  it  was  then  close  upon  mid- 
night. 

While  Delessart  and  his  troops  encamped  at  Laffray, 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  145 

Cambronne — who  was  in  command  of  Napoleon's  vanguard 
— himself  occupied  La  Mure.  This  was  on  the  7th.  The 
Mayor — who  had  so  strongly  protested  against  the  de- 
struction of  the  bridge  of  Ponthaut— gathered  the  popula- 
tion around  him,  and  in  a  body  men,  women  and  children 
marched  out  of  the  borough  along  the  Corps-Sisteron  road 
in  order  to  give  "the  Emperor"  a  rousing  welcome. 

It  was  still  early  morning.  Napoleon  at  the  head  of  his 
Old  Guard  entered  La  Mure;  a  veritable  ovation  greeted 
him,  everyone  pressed  round  him  to  see  him  or  touch 
his  horse,  his  coat,  his  stirrups ;  he  spoke  to  the  people  and 
held  the  Mayor  and  municipal  officials  in  long  conversation. 

Just  as  practically  everywhere  else  on  his  route,  he  had 
won  over  every  heart;  but  his  small  column  which  had 
been  eleven  hundred  strong  when  he  landed  at  Jouan,  was 
still  only  eleven  hundred  strong:  he  had  only  rallied  four 
recruits  to  his  standard.  True,  he  had  met  with  no  op- 
position, true  that  the  peasantry  of  the  Dauphine  had 
loudly  acclaimed  him,  had  listened  to  his  harangues  and  pre- 
sented him  with  flowers,  but  he  had  not  had  a  single  en- 
counter with  any  garrison  on  his  way,  nor  could  he  boast 
of  any  defections  in  his  favour;  now  he  was  nearing  Gre- 
noble— Grenoble,  which  was  strongly  fortified  and  well  gar- 
risoned— and  Grenoble  would  be  the  winning  or  losing  cast 
of  this  great  gamble  for  the  sovereignty  of  France. 

It  was  close  on  eleven  when  the  great  adventurer  set 
out  upon  this  momentous  stage  of  his  journey:  the  Polish 
Lancers  leading,  then  the  chasseurs  of  his  Old  Guard  with 
their  time-worn  grey  coats  and  heavy  bear-skins;  some 
of  them  were  on  foot,  others  packed  closely  together  in 
wagons  and  carts  which  the  enthusiastic  agriculturists  of 
La  Mure  had  placed  at  the  disposal  of  "the  Emperor." 

Napoleon  himself  followed  in  his  coach,  his  horse  being 
led  along.  Amidst  thundering  cries  of  "God  speed"  the 
small  column  started  on  its  way. 


146  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

As  for  the  rest,  'tis  in  the  domain  of  history;  every 
phase  of  it  has  been  put  on  record: — Delessart — worried 
in  his  mind  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  obey  General 
Marchand's  orders  and  destroy  the  bridge  of  Ponthaut 
— his  desire  to  communicate  once  more  with  the  General; 
his  decision  to  await  further  orders  and  in  the  meanwhile 
to  occupy  the  narrow  defile  of  Laffray  as  being  an  advan- 
tageous position  wherein  to  oppose  the  advance  of  the  ogre : 
all  this  on  the  one  side. 

On  the  other,  the  advance  of  the  Polish  Lancers,  of 
the  carts  and  wagons  wherein  are  crowded  the  soldiers 
of  the  Old  Guard,  and  Napoleon  himself,  the  great  gambler, 
sitting  in  his  coach  gazing  out  through  the  open  windows 
at  the  fair  land  of  France,  the  peaceful  valley  on  his  left, 
the  chain  of  ice-covered  lakes  and  the  turbulent  Drac;  on 
his  right  beyond  the  hills  frowning  Taillefer,  snow-capped 
and  pine-clad,  and  far  ahead  Grenoble  still  hidden  from  his 
view  as  the  future  too  was  still  hidden — the  mysterious 
gate  beyond  which  lay  glory  and  an  Empire  or  the  ignominy 
of  irretrievable  failure. 

History  has  made  a  record  of  it  all,  and  it  is  not  the 
purpose  of  this  true  chronicle  to  do  more  than  recall  with 
utmost  brevity  the  chief  incident  of  that  memorable  en- 
counter, the  Polish  Lancers  galloping  back  with  the  report 
that  the  narrow  pass  was  held  against  them  in  strong  force : 
the  Old  Guard  climbing  helter-skelter  out  of  carts  and  wag- 
ons, examining  their  arms,  making  ready:  Napoleon  step- 
ping quickly  out  of  his  coach  and  mounting  his  charger. 

On  the  other  side  Delessart  holding  hurried  consulta- 
tion with  the  Vicomte  de  St.  Genis  whom  General  Mar- 
chand  has  despatched  to  him  with  orders  to  shoot  the  brig- 
and and  his  horde  as  he  would  a  pack  of  wolves. 

Napoleon  is  easily  recognisable  in  the  distance,  with 
his  grey  overcoat,  his  white  horse  and  his  bicorne  hat; 
presently  he  dismounts  and  walks  up  and  down  across  the 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  147 

narrow  road,  evidently  in  a  state  of  great  mental  agita- 
tion, 

Delessart's  men  are  sullen  and  silent;  a  crowd  of  men 
and  women  from  Grenoble  have  followed  them  up  thus  far; 
they  work  their  way.  in  and  out  among  the  infantrymen: 
they  have  printed  leaflets  in  their  hands  which  they  cram 
one  by  one  into  the  hands  or  pockets  of  the  soldiers — 
copies  of  Napoleon's  proclamation. 

Now  an  officer  of  the  Old  Guard  is  seen  to  ride  up  the 
pass.  Delessart  recognises  him.  They  were  brothers  in 
arms  two  years  ago  and  served  together  under  the  great- 
est military  genius  the  world  has  ever  known.  Napoleon 
has  sent  the  man  on  as  an  emissary,  but  Delessart  will 
not  allow  him  to  speak. 

"I  mean  to  do  my  duty,"  he  declares. 

But  in  his  voice  too  there  has  already  crept  that  note 
of  sullenness  which  characterised  the  sapeurs  from  the 
first. 

Then  Captain  Raoul,  own  aide-de-camp  to  Napoleon, 
comes  up  at  full  gallop:  nor  does  he  draw  rein  till  he  is 
up  with  the  entire  front  of  Delessart's  battalion. 

"Your  Emperor  is  coming,"  he  shouts  to  the  soldiers, 
"if  you  fire,  the  first  shot  will  reach  him:  and  France 
will  make  you  answerable  for  this  outrage !" 

While  he  shouts  and  harangues  the  men  are  still  sullen 
and  silent.  And  in  the  distance  the  lances  of  the  Polish 
cavalry  gleam  in  the  sun,  and  the  shaggy  bear-skins  of 
the  Old  Guard  are  seen  to  move  forward  up  the  pass. 
Delessart  casts  a  rapid  piercing  glance  over  his  men.  Sul- 
lenness had  given  place  to  obvious  terror. 

''Right  about  turn!  .  .  .  Quick!  .  .  .  March!"  he  com- 
mands. 

Resistance  obviously  would  be  useless  with  these  men, 
who  are  on  the  verge  of  laying  down  their  arms.  He  forces 
on  a   quick  march,  but  the   Polish  Lancers  are  already 


148  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

gaining  ground :  the  sound  of  their  horses'  hoofs  stamping 
the  frozen  ground,  the  snorting,  the  clanging  of  arms  is 
distinctly  heard.  Delessart  now  has  no  option.  He  must 
make  his  men  turn  once  more  and  face  the  ogre  and  his 
battalion  before  they  are  attacked  in  the  rear. 

As  soon  as  the  order  is  given  and  the  two  little  armies 
stand  face  to  face  the  Polish  Lancers  halt  and  the  Old 
Guard  stand  still. 

And  it  almost  seems  for  the  moment  as  if  Nature  her- 
self stood  still  and  listened,  and  looked  on.  The  genial 
midday  sun  is  slowly  melting  the  snow  on  pine  trees  and 
rocks;  one  by  one  the  glistening  tiny  crystals  blink  and 
vanish  under  the  warmth  of  the  kiss;  the  hard,  white  road 
darkens  under  the  thaw  and  slowly  a  thin  covering  of  water 
spreads  over  the  icy  crust  of  the  lakes. 

Napoleon  tells  Colonel  Mallet  to  order  the  men  to  lower 
their  arms.  Mallet  protests,  but  Napoleon  reiterates  the 
command,  more  peremptorily  this  time,  and  Mallet  must 
obey.  Then  at  the  head  of  his  old  chasseurs,  thus  prac- 
tically disarmed,  the  Emperor — and  he  is  every  inch  an 
Emperor  now — walks  straight  up  to  Delessart's  opposing 
troops. 

Hot-headed  St.  Genis  cries :  "Here  he  is ! — Fire,  in 
Heaven's  name!" 

But  the  sapeurs — the  old  regiment  in  which  Napoleon 
had  served  as  a  young  lieutenant  in  those  glorious  olden 
days — are  now  as  pale  as  death,  their  knees  shake  under 
them,  their  arms  tremble  in  their  hands. 

At  ten  paces  away  from  the  foremost  ranks  Napoleon 
halts : 

"Soldiers,"  he  cries  loudly.  "Here  I  am !  your  Emperor, 
do  you  know  me?" 

Again  he  advances  and  with  a  calm  gesture  throws  open 
his  well-worn  grey  redingote. 

"Fire !"  cries  St.  Genis  in  mad  exasperation. 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  149 

"Fire!"  commands  Delessart  in  a  voice  rendered  shaky 
with  overmastering  emotion. 

Silence  reigns  supreme.  Napoleon  still  advances,  step 
by  step,  his  redingote  thrown  open,  his  broad  chest  chal- 
lenging the  first  bullet  which  would  dare  to  end  the  bold, 
adventurous,  daring  life. 

"Is  there  one  of  you  soldiers  here  who  wants  to  shoot 
his  Emperor?     If  there  is,  here  I  am!     Fire!" 

Which  of  these  soldiers  who  have  served  under  him  at 
Jena  and  Austerlitz  could  resist  such  a  call.  His  voice 
has  lost  nothing  yet  of  its  charm,  his  personality  nothing 
of  its  magic.  Ambitious,  ruthless,  selfish  he  may  be,  but 
to  the  army,  a  friend,  a  comrade  as  well  as  a  god. 

Suddenly  the  silence  is  broken.  Shouts  of  "Vive  I'Em- 
pereur!"  rend  the  air,  they  echo  down  the  narrow  valley, 
re-echo  from  hill  to  hill  and  reverberate  upon  the  pine- 
clad  heights  of  Taillefer.  Broken  are  the  ranks,  white 
cockades  fly  in  every  direction,  tricolours  appear  in  their 
hundreds  everywhere.  Shakos  are  waved  on  the  points  of 
the  bayonets,  and  always,  always  that  cry:  "Vive  I'Em- 
pereur!" 

Sapeurs  and  infantrymen  crowd  around  the  little  man 
in  the  worn  grey  redingote,  and  he  with  that  rough  fa- 
miliarity which  bound  all  soldiers'  hearts  to  him,  seizes 
an  old  sergeant  by  the  ends  of  his  long  moustache : 

"So,  you  old  dog,"  he  says,  "you  were  going  to  shoot 
your  Emperor,  were  you?" 

"Not  me,"  replies  the  man  with  a  growl.  "Look  at  our 
guns.     Not  one  of  them  was  loaded." 

Delessart,  in  despair  yet  shaken  to  the  heart,  his  eyes 
swimming  in  tears,  offers  his  sword  to  Napoleon,  where- 
upon the  Emperor  grasps  his  hand  in  friendship  and  com- 
forts him  with  a   few  inspiring  words. 

Only  St.  Genis  has  looked  on  all  this  scene  with  horror 
and  contempt.     His  royalist  opinions  are  well  known,  his 


150  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

urgent  appeal  to  Delessart  a  while  ago  to  "shoot  the  brig- 
and and  his  hordes"  still  rings  in  every  soldier's  ear.  He 
is  half -crazy  with  rage  and  there  is  quite  an  element  of 
terror  in  the  confused  thoughts  which  crowd  in  upon  his 
brain. 

Already  the  sapeurs  and  infantrymen  have  joined  the 
ranks  of  the  Old  Guard,  and  Napoleon,  with  that  inimitable 
verve  and  inspiring  eloquence  of  which  he  was  pastmaster, 
was  haranguing  his  troops.  Just  then  three  horsemen, 
dressed  in  the  uniform  of  officers  of  the  National  Guard 
and  wearing  enormous  tricolour  cockades  as  large  as  soup- 
plates  on  their  shakos,  are  seen  to  arrive  at  a  break-neck 
gallop  down  the  pass  from  Grenoble. 

St.  Genis  recognised  them  at  a  glance :  they  were  Victor 
de  Marmont,  Surgeon-Captain  Emery  and  their  friend  the 
glovemaker,  Dumoulin.  The  next  moment  these  three  men 
were  at  the  feet  of  their  beloved  hero. 

"Sire,"  said  Dumoulin  the  glovemaker,  "in  the  name 
of  the  citizens  of  Grenoble  we  hereby  offer  you  our  services 
and  one  hundred  thousand  francs  collected  in  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  for  your  use." 

"I  accept  both,"  replied  the  Emperor,  while  he  grasped 
vigorously  the  hands  of  his  three  most  devoted  friends. 

St.  Genis  uttered  a  loud  and  comprehensive  curse :  then 
he  pulled  his  horse  abruptly  round  and  with  such  a  jerk 
that  it  reared  and  plunged  madly  forward  ere  it  started  gal- 
loping away  with  its  frantic  rider  in  the  direction  of  Gre- 
noble. 

Ill 

And  Grenoble  itself  was  in  a  turmoil. 

In  the  barracks  the  cries  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  were 
incessant;  General  Marchand  was  indefatigable  in  his  ef- 
forts to  still  that  cry,  to  rouse  in  the  hearts  of  the  soldiers 
a  sense  of  loyalty  to  the  King. 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  161 

"Your  country  and  your  King,"  he  shouted  from  bar- 
rack-room to  barrack-room. 

"Our  country  and  our  Emperor !"  responded  the  soldiers 
with  ever-growing  enthusiasm. 

The  spirit  of  the  army  and  of  the  people  were  Bona- 
partist  to  the  core.  They  had  never  trusted  either  Mar- 
chand  or  prefet  Fourier,  who  had  turned  their  coats  so 
readily  at  the  Restoration:  they  hated  the  emigres — the 
Comte  de  Cambray,  the  Vicomte  de  St.  Genis,  the  Due 
d'Embrun — with  their  old-fashioned  ideas  of  the  semi-di- 
vine rights  of  the  nobility  second  only  to  the  godlike  ones 
of  the  King.  They  thought  them  arrogant  and  untamed, 
over-ready  to  grab  once  more  all  the  privileges  which  a 
bloody  Revolution  had  swept  away. 

To  them  Napoleon,  despite  the  brilliant  days  of  the  Em- 
pire, despite  his  autocracy,  his  militarism  and  his  arrogance, 
represented  "the  people,"  the  advanced  spirit  of  the  Revo- 
lution; his  downfall  had  meant  a  return  to  the  old  regime 
— the  regime  of  feudal  rights,  of  farmers  general,  of  heavy 
taxation  and  dear  bread. 

"Vive  I'Empereur !"  was  cried  in  the  barracks  and  "Vive 
I'Empereur !"  at  the  street  corners. 

A  squadron  of  Hussars  had  marched  into  Grenoble  from 
Vienne  just  before  noon :  the  same  squadron  which  a  few 
months  ago  at  a  revue  by  the  Comte  d'Artois  in  the  presence 
of  the  King  had  shouted  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  What  faith 
could  be  put  in  their  loyalty  now? 

But  two  infantry  regiments  came  in  at  the  same  time 
from  Chambery  and  on  these  General  Marchand  hoped  to 
be  able  to  reckon.  The  Comte  Charles  de  la  Bedoyere  was 
in  command  of  the  7th  regiment,  and  though  he  had  served 
in  Prussia  under  Napoleon  he  had  tendered  his  oath  loyally 
to  Louis  XVin.  at  the  Restoration.  He  was  a  tried  and 
able  soldier  and  Marchand  believed  in  him.  The  General 
himself  reviewed  both  infantry  regiments  on  the   Place 


152  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

d'Armes  on  their  arrival,  and  then  posted  them  upon  the 
ramparts  of  the  city,  facing  direct  to  the  southeast  and  dom- 
inating the  road  to  La  Mure. 

De  la  Bedoyere  remained  in  command  of  the  7th. 

For  two  hours  he  paced  the  ramparts  in  a  state  of  the 
greatest  possible  agitation.  The  nearness  of  Napoleon,  of 
the  man  who  had  been  his  comrade  in  arms  first  and  his 
leader  afterwards,  had  a  terribly  disturbing  effect  upon  his 
spirit.  From  below  in  the  city  the  people's  mutterings, 
their  grumbling,  their  sullen  excitement  seemed  to  rise 
upwards  like  an  intoxicating  incense.  The  attitude  of  the 
troops,  of  the  gunners,  as  well  as  of  the  garrison  and  of 
his  own  regiment,  worked  more  potently  still  upon  the 
Colonel's  already  shaken  loyalty. 

Then  suddenly  his  mind  is  made  up.  He  draws  his 
sword  and  shouts:  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 

"Soldiers !"  he  calls.  "Follow  me !  I  will  show  you  the 
way  to  duty!    Follow  me!    Vive  I'Empereur!" 

"Vive  I'Empereur!"  vociferate  the  troops. 

"After  me,  my  men!  to  the  Bonne  Gate!  After  me!" 
cries  De  la  Bedoyere. 

And  to  the  shouts  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  the  7th  regi- 
ment of  infantry  passes  through  the  gate  and  marches  along 
the  streets  of  the  suburb  on  towards  La  Mure. 

General  Marchand,  hastily  apprised  of  the  wholesale  de- 
fection, sends  Colonel  Villiers  in  hot  haste  in  the  wake  of 
De  la  Bedoyere.  Villiers  comes  up  with  the  latter  two 
kilometres  outside  Grenoble.  He  talks,  he  persuades,  he 
admonishes,  he  scolds,  De  la  Bedoyere  and  his  men  are  firm. 

"Your  country  and  your  king!"  shouts  Villiers. 

"Our  country  and  our  Emperor !"  respond  the  men.  And 
they  go  to  join  the  Old  Guard  at  Laffray  while  Villiers 
in  despair  rides  back  into  Grenoble. 

In  the  town  the  desertion  of  the  7th  has  had  a  very 
serious  effect.     The  muttered  cries  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  153 

are  open  shouts  now.  General  Marchand  is  at  his  wits' 
ends.  He  has  ordered  the  closing  of  every  city  gate,  and 
still  the  soldiers  in  batches  of  tens  and  twenties  at  a  time 
contrive  to  escape  out  of  the  town  carrying  their  arms 
and  in  many  cases  baggage  with  them.  The  royalist 
faction — the  women  as  well  as  the  men — spend  the  whole 
day  in  and  out  of  the  barrack-rooms  talking  to  the  men, 
trying  to  infuse  into  them  loyalty  to  the  King,  and  to  cheer 
them  up  by  bringing  them  wine  and  provisions. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Vicomte  de  St.  Genis,  sick,  ex- 
hausted, his  horse  covered  with  lather,  comes  back  with  the 
story  of  the  pass  of  Laffray,  and  Napoleon's  triumphant 
march  toward  Grenoble.  Marchand  seriously  contemplates 
evacuating  the  city  in  order  to  save  the  garrison  and  his 
stores. 

Prefet  Fourier  congratulates  himself  on  his  foresight 
and  on  that  he  has  transferred  the  twenty-five  million  francs 
from  the  cellars  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  into  the  safe  keeping 
of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray.  He  and  General  Marchand 
both  hope  and  think  that  "the  brigand  and  his  horde"  can- 
not possibly  be  at  the  gates  of  Grenoble  before  the  morrow, 
and  that  Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Agen  would  be  well  on  her 
way  to  Paris  with  the  money  by  that  time. 

Marchand  in  the  meanwhile  has  made  up  his  mind  to 
retire  from  the  city  with  his  troops.  It  is  only  a  stra- 
tegical measure,  he  argues,  to  save  bloodshed  and  to  save 
his  stores,  pending  the  arrival  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  at 
Lyons,  with  the  army  corps.  He  gives  the  order  for  the 
general  retreat  to  commence  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

Satisfied  that  he  has  done  the  right  thing,  he  finally  goes 
back  to  his  quarters  in  the  Hotel  du  Dauphine  close  to  the 
ramparts.  The  Comte  de  Cambray  is  his  guest  at  dinner, 
and  toward  seven  o'clock  the  two  men  at  last  sit  down  to  a 
hurried  meal,  both  their  minds  filled  with  apprehension 


154  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

and  not  a  little  fear  as  to  what  the  next  few  days  will 
bring. 

"It  is,  of  course,  only  a  question  of  time,"  says  the 
Comte  de  Cambray  airily.  "Monseigneur  le  Comte 
d'Artois  will  be  at  Lyons  directly  with  forty  thousand  men, 
and  he  will  easily  crush  that  marauding  band  of  pirates. 
But  this  time  the  Corsican  after  his  defeat  must  be  put  more 
effectually  out  of  harm's  way.  I,  personally,  was  never 
much  in  favour  of  Elba." 

"The  English  have  some  islands  out  in  the  Atlantic  or  the 
Pacific,"  responds  General  Marchand  with  firm  decision. 
"It  would  be  safest  to  shoot  the  brigand,  but  failing  that, 
let  the  English  send  him  to  one  of  those  islands,  and  under- 
take to  guard  him  well." 

"Let  us  drink  to  that  proposition,  my  dear  Marchand," 
concludes  M.  le  Comte  with  a  smile. 

Hardly  had  the  two  men  concluded  this  toast,  when  a 
fearful  din  is  heard,  "regular  howls"  proceeding  from  the 
suburb  of  Bonne.  The  windows  of  the  hotel  give  on  the 
ramparts  and  the  house  itself  dominates  the  Bonne  Gate 
and  the  military  ground  beyond  it.  Hastily  Marchand 
jumps  up  from  the  table  and  throws  open  the  window.  He 
and  the  Comte  step  out  upon  the  balcony. 

The  dim  has  become  deafening :  with  a  hand  that  slightly 
trembles  now  General  Marchand  points  to  the  extensive 
grounds  that  lie  beyond  the  city  gate,  and  M.  le  Comte 
quickly  smothers  an  exclamation  of  terror. 

A  huge  crowd  of  peasants  armed  with  scythes  and  carry- 
ing torches  which  flicker  in  the  frosty  air  have  invaded  the 
slopes  and  flats  of  the  military  zone.  They  are  yelling 
"Vive  I'Empereur!"  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  from 
walls  and  bastions  reverberates  the  answering  cry  "Vive 
I'Empereur!"  vociferated  by  infantrymen  and  gunners 
and  sapeurs,  and  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  passionate  en- 
thusiasm by  the   people   of   Grenoble  assembled   in  their 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  155 

thousands  in  the  narrow  streets  which  abut  upon  the  ram- 
parts. 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  peasantry,  surrounded  by  them 
as  by  a  cordon,  Napoleon  and  his  small  army,  just  rein- 
forced by  the  7th  regiment  of  infantry,  have  halted — ex- 
pectant. 

Napoleon's  aide-de-camp,  Capitaine  Raoul,  accompanied 
by  half  a  dozen  lancers,  comes  up  to  the  palisade  which  bars 
the  immediate  approach  to  the  city  gates. 

"Open!"  he  cries  loudly,  so  loudly  that  his  young,  firm 
voice  rises  above  the  tumult  around.  "Open !  in  the  name 
of  the  Emperor!" 

Marchand  sees  it  all,  he  hears  the  commanding  summons, 
hears  the  thunderous  and  enthusiastic  cheers  which  greet 
Captain  Raoul's  call  to  surrender.  He  and  the  Comte  de 
Cambray  are  still  standing  upon  the  balcony  of  the  hotel 
that  faces  the  gate  of  Bonne  and  dominates  from  its  high 
ground  the  ramparts  opposite.  White-cheeked  and  silent  the 
two  men  have  gazed  before  them  and  have  understood.  To 
attempt  to  stem  this  tide  of  popular  enthusiasm  would  in- 
evitably be  fatal.  The  troops  inside  Grenoble  were  as  ready 
to  cross  over  to  "the  brigand's"  standard  as  was  Colonel 
de  la  Bedoyere's  regiment  of  infantry. 

The  ramparts  and  the  surrounding  military  zone  were 
lit  up  by  hundreds  of  torches;  by  their  flickering  light  the 
two  men  on  the  balcony  could  see  the  faces  of  the  people, 
and  those  of  the  soldiers  who  were  even  now  being  ordered 
to  fire  upon  Raoul  and  the  Lancers. 

Colonel  Roussille,  who  is  in  command  of  the  troops  at 
the  gate,  sends  a  hasty  messenger  to  General  Marchand: 
"The  brigand  demands  that  we  open  the  gate!"  reports  the 
messenger  breathlessly. 

"Tell  the  Colonel  to  give  the  order  to  fire,"  is  Marcliand's 
peremptory  response. 

"Are  you  coming  with  me,  M.  le  Comte?"  he  asks  hur- 


166  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

riedly.  But  he  does  not  wait  for  a  reply.  Wrapping  his 
cloak  around  him,  he  goes  in  the  wake  of  the  messenger. 
M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  is  close  on  his  heels. 

Five  minutes  later  the  General  is  up  on  the  ramparts. 
He  has  thrown  a  quick,  piercing  glance  round  him.  There 
are  two  thousand  men  up  here,  twenty  guns,  ammunition  in 
plenty.  Out  there  only  peasants  and  a  heterogeneous  band 
of  some  fifteen  hundred  men.  One  shot  from  a  gun  perhaps 
would  send  all  that  crowd  flying,  the  first  fusillade  might 
scatter  "the  band  of  brigands,"  but  Marchand  cannot,  dare 
not  give  the  positive  order  to  fire ;  he  knows  that  rank  in- 
subordination, positive  refusal  to  obey  would  follow. 

He  talks  to  the  men,  he  harangues,  he  begs  them  to  defend 
their  city  against  this  "horde  of  Corsican  pirates." 

To  every  word  he  says,  the  men  but  oppose  the  one  cry : 
"Vivel'Empereur!" 

The  Comte  de  Cambray  turns  in  despair  to  M.  de  St. 
Genis,  who  is  a  captain  of  artillery  and  whose  men  had 
hitherto  been  supposed  to  be  tried  and  loyal  royalists. 

"If  the  men  won't  fire,  Maurice,"  asks  the  Comte  in 
despair,  "cannot  the  officers  at  least  fire  the  first  shot?" 

"M.  le  Comte,"  replies  St.  Genis  through  set  teeth,  for 
his  heart  was  filled  with  wrath  and  shame  at  the  defection 
of  his  men,  "the  gunners  have  declared  that  if  the  officers 
shoot,  the  men  will  shatter  them  to  pieces  with  their  own 
batteries." 

The  crowds  outside  the  gate  itself  are  swelling  visibly. 
They  press  in  from  every  side  toward  the  city  loudly  de- 
manding the  surrender  of  the  town.  "Open  the  gates! 
open!"  they  shout,  and  their  clamour  becomes  more  in- 
sistent every  moment.  Already  they  have  broken  down 
the  palisades  which  surround  the  military  zone,  they  pour 
down  the  slopes  against  the  gate.  But  the  latter  is  heavy 
and  massive,  studded  with  iron,  stoutly  resisting  axe  or 
pick. 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  157 

"Open!"  they  cry.     "Open!  in  the  Emperor's  name!" 

They  are  within  hailing  distance  of  the  soldiers  on  the 
ramparts:  "What  price  your  plums?"  they  shout  gaily  to 
the  gunners. 

"Quite  cheap,"  retort  the  latter  with  equal  gaiety,  "but 
there's  no  danger  of  the  Emperor  getting  any." 

The  women  sing  the  old  couplet : 

"Bon !     Bon !     Napoleon 
Va  rentrer  dans  sa  maison!" 

and  the  soldiers  on  the  ramparts  take  up  the  refrain: 

"Nous  allons  voir  le  grand  Napoleon 
Le  vainqueur  de  toutes  les  nations!" 

"What  can  we  do,  M.  le  Comte?"  says  General  Mar- 
chand  at  last.     "We  shall  have  to  give  in." 

"I'll  not  stay  and  see  it,"  replies  the  Comte.  "I  should 
die  of  shame." 

Even  while  the  two  men  are  talking  and  discussing  the 
possibilities  of  an  early  surrender,  Napoleon  himself  has 
forced  his  way  through  the  tumultuous  throng  of  his  sup- 
porters, and  accompanied  by  Victor  de  Marmont  and 
Colonel  de  la  Bedoyere  he  advances  as  far  as  the  gate  which 
still  stands  barred  defiantly  against  him. 

"I  command  you  to  open  this  gate!"  he  cries  aloud. 

Colonel  Roussille,  who  is  in  command,  replies  defiantly: 
"I  only  take  orders  from  the  General  himself." 

"He  is  relieved  of  his  command,"  retorts  Napoleon. 

"I  know  my  duty,"  insists  Roussille.  "I  only  take  orders 
from  the  General." 

Victor  c'e  Marmont,  intoxicated  with  his  own  enthusiasm, 
maddened  with  rage  at  sight  of  St.  Genis,  whose  face  is 
just  then  thrown  into  vivid  light  by  the  glare  of  the  torches, 
cries   wildly:   "Soldiers  of  the  Emperor,   who  are  being 


158  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

forced  to  resist  him,  turn  on  those  treacherous  officers  of 
yours,  tear  off  their  epaulettes,  I  say !" 

His  shrill  and  frantic  cries  seem  to  precipitate  the  In- 
evitable climax.  The  tumult  has  become  absolutely  deliri- 
ous. The  soldiers  on  the  ramparts  tumble  over  one  another 
in  a  mad  rush  for  the  gate,  which  they  try  to  break  open 
with  the  butt-end  of  their  rifles ;  but  they  dare  not  actually 
attack  their  own  officers,  and  in  any  case  they  know  that 
the  keys  of  the  city  are  still  in  the  hands  of  General  Mar- 
chand,  and  General  Marchand  has  suddenly  disappeared. 

Feeling  the  hopelessness  and  futility  of  further  resistance, 
he  has  gone  back  to  his  hotel,  and  is  even  now  giving  orders 
and  making  preparations  for  leaving  Grenoble.  Prefet 
Fourier,  hastily  summoned,  is  with  him,  and  the  Comte  de 
Cambray  is  preparing  to  return  immediately  to  Brestalou. 

"We  shall  all  leave  for  Paris  to-morrow,  as  early  as  pos- 
sible," he  says,  as  he  finally  takes  leave  of  the  General  and 
the  prefet,  "and  take  the  money  with  us,  of  course.  If  the 
King — which  God  forbid ! — is  obliged  to  leave  Paris,  it  will 
be  most  acceptable  to  him,  until  the  day  when  the  allies 
are  once  more  in  the  field  and  ready  to  crush,  irretrievably 
this  time,  this  Corsican  scourge  of  Europe." 

One  or  two  of  the  royalist  officers  have  succeeded  in  mass- 
ing together  some  two  or  three  hundred  men  out  of  several 
regiments  who  appear  to  be  determined  to  remain  loyal. 

St.  Genis  is  not  among  these :  his  men  had  been  among 
the  first  to  cry  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  when  ordered  to  fire 
on  the  brigand  and  his  hordes.  They  had  even  gone  so 
far  as  to  threaten  their  officers'  lives. 

Now,  covered  with  shame,  and  boiling  with  wrath  at 
the  defection,  St.  Genis  asks  leave  of  the  General  to  escort 
M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  and  his  party  to  Paris. 

"We  shall  be  better  off  for  extra  protection,"  urges  M. 
le  Comte  de  Cambray  in  support  of  St.  Genis'  plea  for  leave. 
"I  shall  only  have  the  coachman  and  two  postillions  with 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  159 

me.  M.  de  St.  Genis  would  be  of  immense  assistance  in 
case  of  footpads." 

"The  road  to  Paris  is  quite  safe,  I  believe,"  says  General 
Marchand,  "and  at  Lyons  you  will  meet  the  army  of  M.  le 
Comte  d'Artois.  But  perhaps  M.  de  St.  Genis  had  better 
accompany  you  as  far  as  there,  at  any  rate.  He  can  then 
report  himself  at  Lyons.  Twenty-five  millions  is  a  large 
sum,  of  course,  but  the  purpose  of  your  journey  has  re- 
mained a  secret,  has  it  not?" 

"Of  course,"  says  M.  le  Comte  unhesitatingly,  for  he  has 
completely  erased  Victor  de  Marmont  from  his  mind. 

"Well  then,  all  you  need  fear  is  an  attack  from  footpads 
— and  even  that  is  unlikely,"  concludes  General  Marchand, 
who  by  now  is  in  a  great  hurry  to  go.  "But  M.  de  St.  Genis 
has  my  permission  to  escort  you." 

The  General  entrusts  the  keys  of  the  Bonne  Gate  to 
Colonel  Roussille.  He  has  barely  time  to  execute  his  hasty 
flight,  having  arranged  to  escape  out  of  Grenoble  by  the  St. 
Laurent  Gate  on  the  north  of  the  town.  In  the  meanwhile 
a  carter  from  the  suburb  of  St.  Joseph  outside  the  Bonne 
Gate  has  harnessed  a  team  of  horses  to  one  of  his  wagons 
and  brought  along  a  huge  joist :  twenty  pairs  of  willing  and 
stout  arms  are  already  manipulating  this  powerful  engine 
for  the  breaking  open  of  the  resisting  gate.  Already  the 
doors  are  giving  way,  the  hinges  creak ;  and  while  General 
Marchand  and  prefet  Fourier  with  their  small  body  of 
faithful  soldiers  rush  precipitately  across  the  deserted  streets 
of  the  town.  Colonel  Roussille  makes  ready  to  open  the  Gate 
of  Bonne  to  the  Emperor  and  to  his  soldiers. 

"My  regiment  was  prepared  to  turn  against  me,"  he  says 
to  his  men,  "but  I  shall  not  turn  against  them." 

Then  he  formally  throws  open  the  gate. 

Ecstatic  delight,  joyful  enthusiasm,  succeeds  the  frantic 
cries  of  a  while  ago.  Napoleon  entering  the  city  of  Grenoble 
was  nearly  crushed  to  death  by  the  frenzy  of  the  crowd. 


160  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Cheered  to  the  echoes,  surrounded  by  a  delirious  populace 
which  hardly  allowed  him  to  move,  it  was  hours  before  he 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  Hotel  des  Trois-Dauphins,  where 
he  was  resolved  to  spend  the  night,  since  it  was  kept 
by  an  ex-soldier,  one  of  his  own  Old  Guard  of  the  Italian 
campaign. 

The  enthusiasm  was  kept  up  all  night.  The  town  was 
illuminated.  Until  dawn  men  and  women  paraded  the 
streets  singing  the  "Marseillaise"  and  shouting  "Vive 
I'Empereur !" 

In  a  small  room,  simply  furnished  but  cosy  and  com- 
fortable, the  great  adventurer,  who  had  conquered  half 
the  world  and  lost  it  and  had  now  set  out  to  conquer  it 
again,  sat  with  half  a  dozen  of  his  most  faithful  friends : 
Cambronne  and  Raoul,  Victor  de  Marmont  and  Emery. 

On  the  table  spread  out  before  him  was  an  ordnance 
map  of  the  province;  his  clenched  hand  rested  upon  it; 
his  eyes,  those  eagle-like,  piercing  eyes  which  had  so  often 
called  his  soldiers  to  victory,  gazed  out  straight  before  him, 
as  if  through  the  bare,  white-washed  walls  of  this  humble 
hotel  room  he  saw  the  vision  of  the  brilliant  halls  of  the 
Tuileries,  the  imperial  throne,  the  Empress  beside  him, 
all  her  faithlessness  and  pusillanimity  forgiven,  liis  son 
whom  he  worshipped,  his  marshals  grouped  around  him ; 
and  with  a  gesture  of  proud  defiance  he  threw  back  his  head 
and  said  loudly : 

"Until  to-day  I  was  only  an  adventurer.  To-night  I  am 
a  prince  once  more." 

It  was  the  next  morning  in  that  same  sparsely-furnished 
and  uncarpeted  room  of  the  Hotel  des  Trois-Dauphins  that 
Napoleon  spoke  to  Victor  de  Marmont,  to  Emery  and  Du- 
moulin  about  the  money  which  had  been  stolen  last  year 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  161 

from  the  Empress  and  which  he  understood  had  been  de- 
posited in  the  cellars  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

"I  am  not  going,"  he  said,  "to  levy  a  war  tax  on  my  good 
city  of  Grenoble,  but  my  good  and  faithful  soldiers  must  be 
paid,  and  I  must  provision  my  army  in  case  I  encounter 
stronger  resistance  at  Lyons  than  I  can  cope  with,  and 
am  forced  to  make  a  detour.  I  want  the  money — the  Em- 
press' money,  which  that  infamous  Talleyrand  stole  from 
her.  So  you,  de  Marmont,  had  best  go  straight  away  to  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  and  in  my  name  summon  the  prefet  to  ap- 
pear before  me.  You  can  tell  him  at  once  that  it  is  on 
account  of  the  money." 

"I  will  go  at  once,  Sire,"  replied  de  Marmont  with  a 
regretful  sigh,  "but  I  fear  me  that  it  is  too  late." 

"Too  late?"  snapped  out  the  Emperor  with  a  frown^ 
"what  do  you  mean  by  too  late?" 

"I  mean  that  Fourier  has  left  Grenoble  in  the  trail  of 
Marchand,  and  that  two  days  ago — unless  I'm  very  much 
mistaken — ^he  disposed  of  the  money." 

"Disposed  of  the  money?    You  are  mad,  de  Marmont." 

"Not  altogether,  Sire.  When  I  say  that  Fourier  disposed 
of  the  Empress'  money  I  only  mean  that  he  deposited  it  in 
what  he  would  deem  a  safe  place." 

"The  cur !"  exclaimed  Napoleon  with  a  yet  tighter  clench- 
ing of  his  hand  and  mighty  fist,  "turning  against  the  hand 
that  fed  him  and  made  him  what  he  is.  Well!"  he  added 
impatiently,  "where  is  the  money  now?" 

"In  the  keeping  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  at  Brestalou," 
replied  de  Marmont  without  hesitation. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Emperor,  "take  a  company  of  the 
7th  regiment  with  you  to  Brestalou  and  requisition  the 
money  at  once." 

"If— as  I  believe— the  Comte  no  longer  has  the  money 
by  him  ?- 


"Make  him  tell  you  where  it  is." 


162  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"I  mean,  Sire,  that  it  is  my  belief  that  M.  le  Comte's 
sister  and  daughter  will  undertake  to  take  the  money  to 
Paris,  hoping  by  their  sex  and  general  air  of  innocence 
to  escape  suspicion  in  connection  with  the  money." 

"Don't  worry  me  with  all  these  details,  de  Marmont," 
broke  in  Napoleon  with  a  frown  of  impatience.  "I  told  you 
to  take  a  company  with  you  and  to  get  me  the  Empress' 
money.  See  to  it  that  this  is  done  and  leave  me  in 
peace." 

He  hated  arguing,  hated  opposition,  the  very  suggestion 
of  any  difficulty.  His  followers  and  intimates  knew  that; 
already  de  Marmont  had  repented  that  he  had  allowed  his 
tongue  to  ramble  on  quite  so  much.  Now  he  felt  that  silence 
must  redeem  his  blunder — silence  now  and  success  in  his 
^dertaking. 

He  bent  the  knee,  for  this  homage  the  great  Corsican 
adventurer  and  one-time  dictator  of  civilised  Europe  loved 
to  receive :  he  kissed  the  hand  which  had  once  wielded  the 
sceptre  of  a  mighty  Empire  and  was  ready  now  to  grasp  it 
again.    Then  he  rose  and  gave  the  military  salute. 

*Tt  shall  be  done.  Sire,"  was  all  that  he  said. 

His  heart  was  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  the  task  allotted 
to  him  was  a  congenial  one:  the  baffling  and  discomfiture 
of  those  who  had  insulted  him.  If — as  he  believed — Crystal 
would  be  accompanying  her  aunt  on  the  journey  toward 
Paris,  then  indeed  would  his  own  longing  for  some  sort  of 
revenge  for  the  humiliation  which  he  had  endured  on  that 
memorable  Sunday  evening  be  fully  gratified. 

It  was  with  a  light  and  swinging  step  that  he  ran  down 
the  narrow  stairs  of  the  hotel.  In  the  little  entrance  hall 
below  he  met  Clyffurde. 

In  his  usual  impulsive  way,  without  thought  of  what 
had  gone  before  or  was  likely  to  happen  in  the  future,  he 
went  up  to  the  Englishman  with  outstretched  hand. 

"My  dear  Clyffurde,"  he  said  with  unaffected  cordiality, 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  16S 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you !  I  have  been  wondering  what  had 
become  of  you  since  we  parted  on  Sunday  last.  My  dear 
friend,"  he  added  ecstatically,  "what  glorious  events,  eh?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  Clyffurde's  reply,  nor  did  he  appear 
to  notice  the  latter's  obvious  coldness  of  manner,  but  went 
prattling  on  with  great  volubility. 

"What  a  man!"  he  exclaimed,  nodding  significantly  in 
the  direction  whence  he  had  just  come.  "A  six  days'  march 
— mostly  on  foot  and  along  steep  mountain  paths !  and  to- 
day as  fresh  and  vigorous  as  if  he  had  just  spent  a  month's 
holiday  at  some  pleasant  watering  place !  What  luck  to  be 
serving  such  a  man!  And  what  luck  to  be  able  to  render 
him  really  useful  service !  The  tables  will  be  turned,  eh,  my 
dear  Clyffurde?"  he  added,  giving  his  taciturn  friend  a 
jovial  dig  in  the  ribs,  "and  what  lovely  discomfiture  for  our 
proud  aristocra^^s,  eh  ?  They  will  be  sorry  to  have  made  an 
enemy  of  Victor  de  Marmont,  what?" 

Whereupon  Clyfifurde  made  a  violent  effort  to  appear 
friendly  and  jovial  too. 

"W^hy,"  he  said  with  a  pleasant  laugh,  "what  madcap 
ideas  are  floating  through  your  head  now?" 

"Madcap  schemes?"  ejaculated  de  Marmont.  "Nothing 
more  or  less,  my  dear  Clyfifurde,  than  complete  revenge  for 
the  humiliation  those  de  Cambrays  put  upon  me  last  Sun- 
day." 

"Revenge  ?  That  sounds  exciting,"  said  Clyfifurde  with  a 
smile,  even  while  his  palm  itched  to  slap  the  young  brag- 
gart's face. 

"Exciting,  par  Dicu!  Of  course  it  will  be  exciting.  They 
have  no  idea  that  I  guessed  their  little  machinations.  Mme. 
la  Duchesse  d'Agen  travelling  to  Paris  forsooth !  ^  Aye !  but 
with  five  and  twenty  millions  sewn  somewhere  inside  her 
petticoats.  Well!  the  Emperor  happens  to  want  his  own 
five  and  twenty  millions,  if  you  please.  So  Mme.  la 
Duchesse  or  M.  le  Comte  will  have  to  disgorge.     And  I 


164  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

shall  have  the  pleasing  task  of  making  them  disgorge.  What 
say  you  to  that,  friend  Clyffurde?" 

"That  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  replied  the  other  drily. 

"Sorry  for  me?    Why?" 

"Because  it  is  never  a  pleasing  task  to  bully  a  defence- 
less woman — and  an  old  one  at  that." 

De  Marmont  laughed  aloud.  "Bully  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
d'Agen?"  he  exclaimed.  "Sacre*  tonnerre!  what  do  you 
take  me  for.  I  shall  not  bully  her.  Fifty  soldiers  don't 
bully  a  defenceless  woman.  We  shall  treat  Mme.  la  Du- 
chesse with  every  consideration:  we  shall  only  remove  five 
and  twenty  millions  of  stolen  money  from  her  carriage, 
that  is  all." 

"You  may  be  mistaken  about  the  money,  de  Marmont.  It 
may  be  anywhere  except  in  the  keeping  of  Mme.  la  Du- 
chesse." 

"It  may  be  at  the  Qiateau  de  Brestalou  in  the  keeping 
of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray:  and  this  I  shall  find  out  first 
of  all.  But  I  must  not  stand  gossiping  any  longer.  I 
must  see  Colonel  de  la  Bedoyere  and  get  the  men  I  want. 
What  are  your  plans,  my  dear  Clyffurde  ?" 

"The  same  as  before,"  replied  Bobby  quietly.  "I  shall 
leave  Grenoble  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"Let  the  Emperor  send  you  on  a  special  mission  to  Lord 
Grenville,  in  London,  to  urge  England  to  remain  neutral 
in  the  coming  struggle." 

"I  think  not,"  said  Clyffurde  enigmatically. 

De  Marmont  did  not  wait  to  ask  him  to  what  this  brief 
remark  had  applied;  he  bade  his  friend  a  hasty  farewell, 
then  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  gaily  whistling  the  refrain  of 
the  "Marseillaise,"  stalked  out  of  the  hotel. 

Clyffurde  remained  standing  in  the  narrow  panelled  hall, 
which  just  then  reeked  strongly  of  stewed  onions  and  of  hot 
coffee ;  he  never  moved  a  muscle,  but  remained  absolutely 
quiet  for  the  space  of  exactly  two  minutes;  then  he  con- 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  165 

suited  his  watch — it  was  then  close  on  midday — and  finally 
went  back  to  his  room. 


An  hour  after  dawn  that  self-same  morning  the  travelling 
coach  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  was  at  the  perron  of  the 
Chateau  de  Brestalou. 

At  the  last  moment,  when  M.  le  Comte,  hopelessly  dis- 
couraged by  the  surrender  of  Grenoble  to  the  usurper,  came 
home  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night,  he  decided  that  he  too 
would  journey  to  Paris  with  his  sister  and  daughter,  taking 
the  money  with  him  to  His  Majesty,  who  indeed  would  soon 
be  in  sore  need  of  funds. 

At  that  same  late  hour  of  the  night  M.  le  Comte  dis- 
covered that  with  the  exception  of  faithful  Hector  and 
one  or  two  scullions  in  the  kitchen  his  male  servants  both  in- 
door and  out  had  wandered  in  a  body  out  to  Grenoble  to 
witness  "the  Emperor's"  entry  into  the  city.  They  had 
marched  out  of  the  chateau  to  the  cry  of  "Vive  I'Empereur !" 
and  outside  the  gates  had  joined  a  number  of  villagers  of 
Brestalou  who  were  bent  on  the  same  errand. 

Fortunately  one  of  the  coachmen  and  two  of  the  older 
grooms  from  the  stables  returned  in  the  early  dawn  after 
the  street  demonstrations  outside  the  Emperor's  windows 
had  somewhat  calmed  down,  and  with  the  routine  of  many 
years  of  domestic  service  had  promptly  and  without  mur- 
murings  set  to  to  obey  the  orders  given  to  them  the  day 
before :  to  have  the  travelling  berline  ready  with  four  horses 
by  seven  o'clock. 

It  was  very  cold :  the  coachman  and  postillions  shivered 
under  their  threadbare  liveries.  The  coachman  had  wrapped 
a  woollen  comforter  round  his  neck  and  pulled  his  white 
beaver  broad-brimmed  hat  well  over  his  brows,  as  the 
northeast  wind  was  keen  and  vvould  blow  into  his  face 
all  the  way  to  Lyons,  where  the  party  would  halt  for  the 


166  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

night.  He  had  thick  woollen  gloves  on  and  of  his  entire 
burly  person  only  the  tip  of  his  nose  could  be  seen  between 
his  muffler  and  the  brim  of  his  hat.  The  postillions,  whip  in 
hand,  could  not  wrap  themselves  up  quite  so  snugly:  they 
were  trying  to  keep  themselves  warm  by  beating  their 
arms  against  their  chest. 

M.  le  Comte,  aided  by  Hector,  was  arranging  for  the  dis- 
posal of  leather  wallets  underneath  the  cushions  of  the 
carriage.  The  wallets  contained  the  money — twenty- 
five  millions  in  notes  and  drafts — a  godsend  to  the  King 
if  the  usurper  did  succeed  in  driving  him  out  of  the  Tuile- 
ries. 

Presently  the  ladies  came  down  the  perron  steps  with 
faithful  Jeanne  in  attendance,  who  carried  small  bags  and 
dressing-cases.  Both  the  ladies  were  wrapped  in  long  fur- 
lined  cloaks  and  Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Agen  had  drawn  a 
hood  closely  round  her  face ;  but  Crystal  de  Cambray  stood 
bareheaded  in  the  cold  frosty  air,  the  hood  of  her  cloak 
thrown  back,  her  own  fair  hair,  dressed  high,  forming 
the  only  covering  for  her  head. 

Her  face  looked  grave  and  even  anxious,  but  wonderfully 
serene.  This  should  have  been  her  wedding  morning,  the 
bells  of  old  Brestalou  church  should  even  now  have  been 
ringing  out  their  first  joyous  peal  to  announce  the  great 
event.  Often  and  often  in  the  past  few  weeks,  ever  since 
her  father  had  formally  betrothed  her  to  Victor  de  Mar- 
mont,  she  had  thought  of  this  coming  morning,  and  steeled 
herself  to  be  brave  against  the  fateful  day.  She  had  been 
resigned  to  the  decree  of  the  father  and  to  the  necessities 
of  family  and  name — resigned  but  terribly  heartsore.  She 
was  obeying  of  her  own  free  will  but  not  blindly.  She  knew 
that  her  marriage  to  a  man  whom  she  did  not  love  was  a 
sacrifice  on  her  part  of  every  hope  of  future  happiness. 
Her  girlish  love  for  St.  Genis  had  opened  her  eyes  to  the 
possibilities  of  happiness;  she  knew  that  Life  could  hold 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  167 

out  a  veritable  cornucopia  of  delight  and  joy  in  a  union 
which  was  hallowed  by  Love,  and  her  ready  sacrifice  was 
therefore  all  the  greater,  all  the  more  sublime,  because  it 
was  not  offered  up  in  ignorance. 

But  all  that  now  was  changed.  She  was  once  more  free 
to  indulge  in  those  dreams  which  had  gladdened  the  days 
and  nights  of  her  lonely  girlhood  out  in  far-off  England: 
dreams  which  somehow  had  not  even  found  their  culmina- 
tion when  St.  Genis  first  told  her  of  his  love  for  her.  They 
had  always  been  golden  dreams  which  had  haunted  her  in 
those  distant  days,  dreams  of  future  happiness  and  of  love 
which  are  seldom  absent  from  a  young  girl's  mind,  especially 
if  she  is  a  little  lonely,  has  few  pleasures  and  is  surrounded 
with  an  atmosphere  of  sadness. 

Crystal  de  Cambray,  standing  on  the  perron  of  her  stately 
home,  felt  but  little  sorrow  at  leaving  it  to-day:  she  had 
hardly  had  the  time  in  one  brief  year  to  get  very  much 
attached  to  it :  the  sense  of  unreality  which  had  been  bom 
in  her  when  her  father  led  her  through  its  vast  halls  and 
stately  parks  had  never  entirely  left  her.  The  little  home  in 
England,  the  tiny  sitting-room  with  its  bow  window,  and 
small  front  garden  edged  with  dusty  evergreens,  was  far 
more  real  to  her  even  now.  She  felt  as  if  the  last  year 
with  its  pomp  and  gloomy  magnificence  was  all  a  dream 
and  that  she  was  once  more  on  the  threshold  of  reality  now, 
on  the  point  of  waking,  when  she  would  find  herself  once 
more  in  her  narrow  iron  bed  and  see  the  patched  and  darned 
muslin  curtains  gently  waving  in  the  draught. 

But  for  the  moment  she  was  glad  enough  to  give  herself 
to  the  delight  of  this  sudden  consciousness  of  freedom.  She 
sniffed  the  sharp,  frosty  air  with  dilated  nostrils  like  a  young 
Arab  filly  that  scents  the  illimitable  vastness  of  meadowland 
around  her.  The  excitement  of  the  coming  adventure  thrilled 
her:  she  watched  with  glowing  eyes  the  preparations  for 
the  journey,  the  bestowal  under  the  cushions  of  the  car- 


168  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

riage  of  the  money  which  was  to  help  King  Louis  to  pre- 
serve his  throne. 

In  a  sense  she  was  sorry  that  her  father  and  her  aunt 
were  coming  too.  She  would  have  loved  to  fly  across  coun- 
try as  a  trusted  servant  of  her  King;  but  when  the  time 
came  to  make  a  start  she  took  her  place  in  the  big  travel- 
ling coach  with  a  light  heart  and  a  merry  face.  She  was 
so  sure  of  the  justice  of  the  King's  cause,  so  convinced  of 
God's  wrath  against  the  usurper,  that  she  had  no  room  in 
her  thoughts  for  apprehension  or  sadness. 

The  Comte  de  Cambray  on  the  other  hand  was  grave  and 
taciturn.  He  had  spent  hours  last  evening  on  the  ramparts 
of  Grenoble.  He  had  watched  the  dissatisfaction  of  the 
troops  grow  into  open  rebellion  and  from  that  to  burning  en- 
thusiasm for  the  Corsican  ogre.  St.  Genis  had  given  him  a 
vivid  account  of  the  encounter  at  Lafifray,  and  his  ears 
were  still  ringing  with  the  cries  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 
which  had  filled  the  streets  and  ramparts  of  Grenoble  until 
he  himself  fled  back  to  his  own  chateau,  sickened  at  all  that 
he  had  seen  and  heard. 

He  knew  that  the  KIng*s  own  brother,  M.  le  Comte 
d'Artois,  was  at  Lyons  even  now  with  forty  thousand  men 
who  were  reputed  to  be  loyal,  but  were  not  the  troops  of 
Grenoble  reputed  to  be  loyal  too  ?  and  was  it  likely  that  the 
regiments  at  Lyons  would  behave  so  very  differently  to 
those  at  Grenoble? 

Thus  the  wearisome  journey  northwards  in  the  lumber- 
ing carriage  proceeded  mostly  in  silence.  None  of  the  oc- 
cupants seemed  to  have  much  to  say.  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
d'Agen  and  M.  le  Comte  sat  on  the  back  seats  leaning  against 
the  cushions;  Crystal  de  Cambray  and  ever- faithful  Jeanne 
sat  in  front,  making  themselves  as  comfortable  as  they 
could. 

There  was  a  halt  for  dejeuner  and  change  of  horses  at 
Rives,  and  here  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  overtook  the  party. 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  169 

He  proposed  to  continue  the  journey  as  far  as  Lyons  on 
horseback,  riding  close  by  the  off  side  of  the  carriage.  Here 
as  well  as  at  the  next  halt,  at  St.  Andre-le-Gaz,  Maurice 
tried  to  get  speech  with  Crystal,  but  she  seemed  cold  in 
manner  and  unresponsive  to  his  whispered  words.  He  tried 
to  approach  her,  but  she  pleaded  fatigue  and  anxiety,  and 
he  was  glad  then  that  he  had  made  arrangements  not  to 
travel  beside  her  in  the  lumbering  coach.  His  position  on 
horseback  beside  the  carriage  would,  he  felt,  be  a  more 
romantic  one,  and  he  half -hoped  that  some  enterprising 
footpad  would  give  him  a  chance  of  displaying  his  pluck 
and  his  devotion. 

A  start  was  made  from  St.  Andre-le-Gaz  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  Crystal  was  getting  very  cramped  and 
tired,  even  the  fine  views  over  the  range  of  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  and  the  long  white  plateau  of  the  Dent  de 
CroUes,  with  the  wintry  sunset  behind  it,  failed  to  en- 
chain her  attention.  Her  father  and  her  aunt  slept  most 
of  the  time  each  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  after  the 
start  from  St.  Andre-le-Gaz,  comforted  with  hot  coffee  and 
fresh  bread  and  the  prospect  of  Lyons  now  only  some  sixty 
kilometres  away,  Crystal  settled  herself  against  the  cushions 
and  tried  to  get  some  sleep. 

The  incessant  shaking  of  the  carriage,  the  rattle  of  har- 
ness and  wheels,  the  cracking  of  the  postillions'  whips,  all 
contributed  to  making  her  head  ache,  and  to  chase  slumber 
away.  But  gradually  her  thoughts  became  more  confused, 
as  the  dim  winter  twilight  gradually  faded  into  night  and 
a  veil  of  impenetrable  blackness  spread  itself  outside  the 
windows  of  the  coach. 

The  northeasterly  wind  had  not  abated:  it  whistled 
mournfully  through  the  cracks  in  the  woodwork  of  the 
carriage  and  made  the  windows  rattle  in  their  framework. 
On  the  box  the  coachman  had  much  ado  to  see  well  ahead 
of  him,  as  the  vapour  which  rose   from  the  flanks  and 


170  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

shoulders  of  his  steaming  horses  effectually  blurred  every 
outline  on  the  road.  The  carriage  lanthoms  threw  a  weird 
and  feeble  light  upon  the  ever-growing  darkness.  To 
right  and  left  the  bare  and  frozen  common  land  stretched 
its  lonely  vastness  to  some  distant  horizon  unseen. 

VI 

Suddenly  the  cumbrous  vehicle  gave  a  terrific  lurch, 
which  sent  the  unsuspecting  Jeanne  flying  into  Mme.  la 
Duchesse's  lap  and  threw  Crystal  with  equal  violence 
against  her  father's  knees.  There  was  much  cracking  of 
whips,  loud  calls  and  louder  oaths  from  coachman  and 
postillions,  much  creaking  and  groaning  of  wheels,  another 
lurch — more  feeble  this  time — more  groaning,  more  creak- 
ing, more  oaths  and  finally  the  coach  with  a  final  quivering 
as  it  were  of  all  its  parts  settled  down  to  an  ominous  stand- 
still. 

Whereafter  the  oaths  sounded  more  mufiled,  while  there 
was  a  scampering  down  from  the  high  altitude  of  the 
coachman's  box  and  a  confused  murmur  of  voices. 

It  was  then  close  on  eight  o'clock:  Lyons  was  distant 
still  some  dozen  miles  or  so — and  the  night  by  now  was 
darker  than  pitch. 

M.  le  Comte,  roused  from  fitful  slumbers  and  trying 
to  gather  his  wandering  wits,  put  his  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow: "What  is  it,  Pierre?"  he  called  out  loudly.  "What 
has  happened?" 

"It's  this  confounded  ditch,  M.  le  Comte,"  came  in  a 
gruff  voice  from  out  the  darkness.  "I  didn't  know  the 
bridge  had  entirely  broken  down.  This  sacre  government 
will  not  look  after  the  roads  properly." 

"Are  you  there,  Maurice?"  called  the  Comte. 

But  strangely  enough  there  came  no  answer  to  his  call. 
M.  de  St.  Genis  must  have  fallen  back  some  little  distance 
in  the  rear,  else  he  surely  would  have  heard  something 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  171 

of  the  clatter,  the  shouts  and  the  swearing  which  were  at- 
tending the  present  unfortunate  contretemps. 

"Maurice !  where  are  you  ?"  called  the  Comte  again.  And 
still  no  answer. 

Pierre  was  continuing  his  audible  mutterings.  "Dark- 
ness as  black  as ":  then  he  shouted  with  a  yet  more 

forcible  volley  of  oaths:  "Jean!  you  oaf!  get  hold  of  the 
off  mare,  can't  you  ?  And  you,  what's  your  name,  you  fool  ? 
ease  the  near  gelding.    Heavens  above,  what  dolts!" 

"Stop  a  moment,"  cried  M.  le  Comte,  "wait  till  the  la- 
dies can  get  out.  This  pulling  and  lurching  is  unbear- 
able." 

"Ease  a  moment,"  commanded  Pierre  stolidly.  "Go  to 
the  near  door,  Jean,  and  help  the  master  out  of  the  car- 
riage." 

"Hark!  what  was  that?"  It  was  M,  le  Comte  who 
spoke.  There  had  been  a  momentary  lull  in  the  creaking 
and  groaning  of  the  wheels,  while  the  two  young  postillions 
obeyed  the  coachman's  orders  to  "ease  a  moment,"  and 
one  of  them  came  round  to  help  the  ladies  and  his  master 
out  of  the  lurching  vehicle;  only  the  horses'  snorting,  the 
champing  of  their  bits  and  pawing  of  the  hard  ground  broke 
the  silence  of  the  night. 

M.  le  Comte  had  opened  the  near  door  and  was  half  out 
of  the  carriage  when  a  sound  caught  his  ear  which  was  in 
no  way  connected  with  the  stranded  vehicle  and  its  team  of 
snorting  horses.  Yet  the  sound  came  from  horses — horses 
which  were  on  the  move  not  very  far  away  and  which 
even  now  seemed  to  be  coming  nearer. 

"Who  goes  there?  Maurice,  is  that  you?"  called  M.  le 
Comte  more  loudly. 

"Stand  and  deliver !"  came  the  peremptory  response. 

"Stand  yourself  or  I  fire,"  retorted  the  Comte,  who  was 
already  groping  for  the  pistol  which  he  kept  inside  the 
carriage. 


172  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"You  murderous  villain !"  came  with  the  inevitable  string 
of  oaths  from  Pierre  the  coachman.     "You  .  .  ." 

The  rest  of  this  forceful  expletive  was  broken  and  muf- 
fled. Evidently  Pierre  had  been  summarily  gagged.  There 
was  a  short,  sharp  scuffle  somewhere  on  ahead;  cries  for 
help  from  the  two  postillions  which  were  equally  sharply 
smothered.     The  horses  began  rearing  and  plunging. 

"One  of  you  at  the  leaders'  heads,"  came  in  a  clear 
voice  which  in  this  impenetrable  darkness  sounded  weirdly 
familiar  to  the  occupants  of  the  carriage,  who  awed,  ter- 
rified by  this  unforeseen  attack  sat  motionless,  clinging  to 
one  another  inside  the  vehicle. 

Alone  the  Comte  had  not  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  Al- 
ready he  had  jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  banging  the  door 
to  behind  him,  despite  feeble  protests  from  his  sister ;  pistol 
in  hand  he  tried  with  anxious  eyes  to  pierce  the  inky  black- 
ness around  him. 

A  muffled  groan  on  his  right  caused  him  to  turn  in  that 
direction. 

"Release  my  coachman,"  he  called  peremptorily,  "or  I 
fire." 

"Easy,  M.  le  Comte,"  came  as  a  sharp  warning  out  of 
the  night,  in  those  same  weirdly  familiar  tones;  "as  like 
as  not  you  would  be  shooting  your  own  men  in  this  in- 
fernal darkness." 

"Who  is  it?"  whispered  Crystal  hoarsely.  "I  seem  to 
know  that  voice," 

"God  protect  us,"  murmured  Jeanne.  "It's  the  devil's 
voice,  Mademoiselle." 

Mme.  la  Duchesse  said  nothing.  No  doubt  she  was  too 
frightened  to  speak.  Her  thin,  bony  fingers  were  clasped 
tightly  round  her  niece's  hands. 

Suddenly  there  was  another  scuffle  by  the  door,  the  sharp 
report  of  a  pistol  and  then  that  strangely  familiar  voice 
called  out  again : 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  17S 

"Merely  as  a  matter  of  form,  M,  le  Comte!" 

"You  will  hang  for  this,  you  rogue,"  came  in  response 
from  the  Comte. 

But  already  Crystal  had  torn  her  hands  out  of  Mme.  la 
Duchesse's  grasp  and  now  was  struggling  to  free  herself 
from  Jeanne's  terrified  and  clinging  embrace. 

"Father!"  she  cried  wildly.  "Maurice!  Maurice!  Help! 
Let  me  go,  Jeanne !    They  are  hurting  him !" 

She  had  succeeded  in  pushing  Jeanne  roughly  away  and 
already  had  her  hand  on  the  door,  when  it  was  opened 
from  the  outside,  and  the  flickering  light  of  a  carriage 
lanthorn  fell  full  on  the  interior  of  the  vehicle.  Neither 
Crystal  nor  Mme.  la  Duchesse  could  effectually  suppress 
a  sudden  gasp  of  terror,  whilst  Jeanne  threw  her  shawl 
right  over  her  head,  for  of  a  truth  she  thought  that  here 
was  the  devil  himself. 

The  light  illumined  the  lanthorn-bearer  only  fitfully,  but 
to  the  terror-stricken  women  he  appeared  to  be  preter- 
naturally  tall  and  broad,  with  wide  caped  coat  pulled  up 
to  his  ears  and  an  old-fashioned  tricorne  hat  on  his  head; 
his  face  was  entirely  hidden  by  a  black  mask,  and  his 
hands  by  black  kid  gloves. 

"I  pray  you  ladies,"  he  said  quietly,  and  this  time  the 
voice  was  obviously  disguised  and  quite  unrecognisable.  "I 
pray  you  have  no  fear.  Neither  I  nor  my  men  will  do 
you  or  yours  the  slightest  harm,  if  you  will  allow  me  with- 
out any  molestation  on  your  part  to  make  an  examination 
of  the  interior  of  your  carriage." 

Mme.  la  Duchesse  and  Jeanne  remained  silent:  the  one 
from  fear,  the  other  from  dignity.  But  it  was  not  in 
Crystal's  nature  to  submit  quietly  to  any  unlawful  coercion. 

"This  is  an  infamy,"  she  protested  loudly,  ''and  you,  my 
man,  will  swing  on  the  nearest  gallows  for  it." 

"No  doubt  I  should  if  I  were  found  out,"  said  the  man 
imperturbably,  "but  the  military  patrols  of  M.  le  Comte 


174  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

d'Artois  don't  come  out  as  far  as  this:  nevertheless  I 
must  ask  you  ladies  not  to  detain  me  on  my  business  any 
longer.  My  men  are  at  the  door  and  it  is  over  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  ago  since  we  placed  M.  de  St.  Genis  tem- 
porarily yet  effectually  hors  de  combat.  I  pray  you,  there- 
fore, step  out  without  delay  so  that  I  may  proceed  to  as- 
certain whether  there  is  anything  in  this  carriage  likely 
to  suit  my  requirements." 

"You  must  be  a  madman  as  well  as  a  thief,"  retorted 
Crystal  loudly,  "to  imagine  that  we  would  submit  to  such 
an  outrage." 

"If  you  do  not  submit,  Madame,"  said  the  man  calmly, 
"I  will  order  my  man  to  shoot  M.  le  Comte  in  the  right 
leg." 

"You  would  not  dare.  .  .  ." 

But  the  miscreant  turned  his  head  slowly  round  and 
called  over  his  shoulder  into  the  night: 

"Attention,  my  men!  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray! — 
have  you  got  him?" 

"Aye!  aye,  sir!"  came  from  out  the  darkness. 

Crystal  gave  a  wild  scream,  and  with  an  agonised  ges- 
ture of  terror  clutched  the  highway  robber  by  the  coat. 

"No !  no !"  she  cried.    "Stop !  stop !  no !    Father !    Help !" 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  man,  quietly  releasing  his  coat 
from  her  clinging  hands,  "remember  that  M.  le  Comte 
is  perfectly  safe  if  you  will  deign  to  step  out  of  the  car- 
riage without  further  delay." 

He  held  the  lanthorn  in  one  hand,  the  other  was  sud- 
denly imprisoned  by  Crystal's  trembling  fingers. 

"Sir,"  she  pleaded  in  a  voice  broken  by  terror  and 
anxiety,  "we  are  helpless  travellers  on  our  way  to  Paris, 
driven  out  of  our  home  by  the  advancing  horde  of  Corsican 
brigands.  Our  little  all  we  have  with  us.  You  cannot 
take  that  all  from  us.  Let  us  give  you  some  money  of 
our  own  free  will,  then  the  shame  of  robbing  women  who 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  176 

have  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  been  rendered  helpless 
will  not  rest  upon  you.  Oh!  have  pity  upon  us.  Your 
voice  is  so  gentle  you  must  be  good  and  kind.  You  will 
let  us  proceed  on  our  way,  will  you  not?  and  we'll  take 
a  solemn  oath  that  we'll  not  attempt  to  put  any  one  on  your 
track.  You  will,  won't  you  ?  I  swear  to  you  that  you  will 
be  doing  a  far  finer  deed  thereby  than  you  can  possibly 
dream  of." 

"I  have  some  jewelry  about  my  person,"  here  interposed 
Madame's  sharp  voice  drily,  "also  some  gold.  I  agree  to 
what  my  niece  says.  We'll  swear  to  do  nothing  against 
you  when  we  reach  Lyons,  if  you  will  be  content  with 
what  we  give  you  of  our  own  free  will  and  let  us  go  in 
peace." 

The  man  allowed  both  ladies  to  speak  without  any  in- 
terruption on  his  part.  He  even  allowed  Crystal's  dainty 
fingers  to  cling  around  his  gloved  hand  for  as  long  as  she 
chose :  no  doubt  he  found  some  pleasure  in  this  tearful  ap- 
peal from  such  beautiful  lips,  for  Crystal  looked  divinely 
pretty  just  then,  with  the  flickering  light  of  the  lanthorn 
throwing  her  fair  head  into  bold  relief  against  the  sur- 
rounding gloom.  Her  blue  eyes  were  shining  with  unshed 
tears,  her  delicate  mouth  was  quivering  with  the  piteous- 
ness  of  her  appeal. 

But  when  Mme.  la  Duchesse  had  finished  speaking  and 
began  to  divest  herself  of  her  rings  he  released  his  hand 
very  gently  and  said  in  his  even,  quiet  voice: 

"Your  pardon,  Madame;  but  as  it  happens  I  have  no 
use  for  ladies'  trinkets,  while  all  that  you  have  been  good 
enough  to  tell  me  only  makes  me  the  more  eager  to  examine 
the  contents  of  this  carriage." 

"But  there's  nothing  of  value  in  it,"  asserted  Madame 
unblushingly,  "except  what  we  are  offering  you  now." 

"That  is  as  may  be,  Madame.  I  would  wish  to  ascer- 
tain." 


176  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"You  impious  malapert!"  she  cried  out  wrathfully, 
"would  you  dare  lay  hands  upon  a  woman?" 

"No,  Madame,  certainly  not,"  he  replied.  "I  will  merely, 
as  I  have  had  the  honour  to  tell  you,  order  my  men  to 
shoot  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  in  the  right  leg." 

"You  vagabond!  you  thief!  you  wouldn't  dare,"  expos- 
tulated Madame,  who  seemed  now  on  the  verge  of  hys- 
teria. 

"Attention,  my  men!"  he  called  once  more  over  his  left 
shoulder. 

"It  is  no  use,  nta  tante,"  here  interposed  Crystal  with 
sudden  calm.  "We  must  yield  to  brute  force.  Let  us  get 
out  and  allow  this  abominable  thief  to  wreak  his  impious 
will  with  us,  else  we  lay  ourselves  open  to  further  outrage 
at  his  hands.  Be  sure  that  retribution,  swift  and  certain, 
will  overtake  him  in  the  end." 

"Come !  that's  wisely  spoken,"  said  the  man,  who  seemed 
in  no  way  perturbed  by  the  scornful  glances  which  Crystal 
and  Madame  now  freely  darted  upon  him.  He  stood  a 
little  aside,  holding  the  door  open  for  them  to  step  out 
of  the  carriage. 

"Where  is  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray?"  queried  Crystal 
as  she  brushed  past  him. 

"Close  by,"  he  replied,  "to  your  right  now,  Mademoi- 
selle, and  perfectly  safe,  and  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis 
is  not  two  hundred  metres  away,  equally  secure  and  equally 
safe.  Here,  le  Bossu,"  he  added,  calling  out  into  the  night, 
"ease  the  gag  round  your  prisoner's  mouth  a  little  so  that 
he  may  speak  to  the  ladies." 

While  Madame  la  Duchesse  groped  her  way  along  in  the 
direction  whence  came  sounds  of  stirring,  groaning  and  not 
a  little  cursing  which  proclaimed  the  presence  of  some  men 
held  captive  by  others.  Crystal  remained  beside  the  car- 
riage door  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot.  The  feeble  light  of 
the  lanthorn  had  shown  her  at  a  glance  that  the  masked 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  177 

miscreant  had  taken  every  precaution  for  the  success  of 
his  nefarious  purpose.  How  many  men  he  had  with  him 
altogether,  she  could  not  of  course  ascertain:  half  a  dozen 
perhaps,  seeing  that  her  father,  the  coachman  and  two 
postillions  had  been  overpowered  and  were  being  closely 
guarded,  whilst  she  distinctly  saw  that  two  men  at  least 
were  standing  behind  their  chief  at  this  moment  in  order 
to  ward  off  any  possible  attack  against  him  from  the  rear, 
while  he  himself  was  engaged  in  the  infamous  task  of 
robbing  the  coach  of  its  contents. 

Crystal  saw  him  start  to  work  in  a  most  methodical 
manner.  He  had  stood  the  lanthorn  on  the  floor  of  the 
carriage  and  was  turning  over  every  cushion  and  ransack- 
ing every  pocket.  The  leather  wallets  which  he  found,  he 
examined  with  utmost  coolness,  seeing  indeed  that  they 
were  stuffed  full  of  banknotes  and  drafts.  His  huge  caped 
coat  appeared  to  have  immense  pockets,  into  which  those 
precious  wallets  disappeared  one  by  one. 

She  knew  of  course  that  resistance  was  useless:  the  oc- 
casional glint  of  the  feeble  lanthorn  light  upon  the  pistols 
held  by  the  men  close  beside  her  taught  her  the  salutary 
lesson  of  silence  and  dignity.  She  clenched  her  hands  until 
her  nails  were  almost  driven  into  the  flesh  of  her  palms, 
and  her  face  now  glowed  with  a  fierce  and  passionate  re- 
sentment. This  money  which  might  have  saved  the  King 
and  France  from  the  immediate  effects  of  the  usurper's 
invasion  was  now  the  booty  of  a  common  thief!  Wild 
thoughts  of  vengeance  coursed  through  her  brain:  she  felt 
like  a  tiger-cat  that  was  being  robbed  of  its  young.  Once 
— unable  to  control  herself — she  made  a  wild  dash  forward, 
determined  to  fight  for  her  treasure,  to  scratch  or  to  bite 
— to  do  anything  in  fact  rather  than  stand  by  and  see  this 
infamous  spoliation.  But  immediately  her  hands  were 
seized,  and  an  ominous  word  of  command  rang  out  weirdly 
through  the  night. 


178  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Resistance  here!     Attention  over  there!" 

Her  father's  safety  was  a  guarantee  of  her  own  acqui- 
escence. Struggling,  fighting  was  useless!  the  abominable 
thief  must  be  left  to  do  his  work  in  peace. 

It  did  not  take  long.  A  minute  or  two  later  he  too  had 
stepped  out  of  the  carriage.  He  ordered  one  of  his  fol- 
lowers to  hold  the  lanthorn  and  then  quietly  took  up  his 
stand  beside  the  open  door. 

"Now,  ladies,  an  you  desire  it,"  he  said  calmly,  "you 
may  continue  your  journey.  Your  coachman  and  your  men 
are  close  here,  on  the  road,  securely  bound.  M.  de  St. 
Genis  is  not  far  off — straight  up  the  road — you  cannot  miss 
him.  We  leave  you  free  to  loosen  their  bonds.  To  horse, 
my  men!"  he  added  in  a  loud,  commanding  voice.  "Le 
Bossu,  hold  my  horse  a  moment!  and  you  ladies,  I  pray 
you  accept  my  humble  apologies  that  I  do  not  stop  to  see 
you  safely  installed." 

As  in  a  dream  Crystal  heard  the  bustle  incident  on  a  num- 
ber of  men  getting  to  horse :  in  the  gloom  she  saw  vague 
forms  moving  about  hurriedly,  she  heard  the  champing  of 
bits,  the  clatter  of  stirrup  and  bridle.  The  masked  man 
was  the  last  to  move.  After  he  had  given  the  order  to 
mount  he  stood  for  nearly  a  minute  by  the  carriage  door, 
exactly  facing  Crystal,  not  five  paces  away. 

His  companion  had  put  the  lanthorn  down  on  the  step, 
and  by  its  light  she  could  see  him  distinctly:  a  mysteri- 
ous, masked  figure  who,  with  wanton  infamy,  had  placed 
the  satisfaction  of  his  dishonesty  and  of  his  greed  athwart 
the  destiny  of  the  King  of  France. 

Crystal  knew  that  through  the  peep-holes  of  his  mask, 
the  man's  eyes  were  fixed  intently  upon  her  and  the  knowl- 
edge caused  a  blush  of  mortification  and  of  shame  to  flood 
her  cheeks  and  throat.  At  that  moment  she  would  gladly 
have  given  her  life  for  the  power  to  turn  the  tables  upon 
that  abominable  rogue,  to  filch   from  him  that  precious 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  179 

treasure  which  she  had  hoped  to  deposit  at  the  feet  of  the 
King  for  the  ultimate  success  of  his  cause:  and  she  would 
have  given  much  for  the  power  to  tear  off  that  concealing 
mask,  so  that  for  the  rest  of  her  life  she  might  be  able 
to  visualise  that  face  which  she  would  always  execrate. 

Something  of  what  she  felt  and  thought  must  have  been 
apparent  in  her  expressive  eyes,  for  presently  it  seemed 
to  her  as  if  beneath  the  narrow  curtain  that  concealed  the 
lower  part  of  the  man's  face  there  hovered  the  shadow 
of  a  smile. 

The  next  moment  he  had  the  audacity  slightly  to  raise 
his  hat  and  to  make  her  a  bow  before  he  finally  turned 
to  go.  Crystal  had  taken  one  step  backward  just  then, 
whether  because  she  was  afraid  that  the  man  would  try 
and  approach  her,  or  because  of  a  mere  sense  of  dignity, 
she  could  not  herself  have  said.  Certain  it  is  that  she 
did  move  back  and  that  in  so  doing  her  foot  came  in  con- 
tact with  an  object  lying  on  the  ground.  The  shape  and 
size  of  it  were  unmistakable,  it  was  the  pistol  which  the 
Comte  must  have  dropped  when  first  he  stepped  out  of  the 
carriage,  and  was  seized  upon  by  this  band  of  thieves. 
Guided  by  that  same  strange  and  wonderful  instinct  which 
has  so  often  caused  women  in  times  of  war  to  turn  against 
the  assailants  of  their  men  or  devastation  of  their  homes, 
Crystal  picked  up  the  weapon  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion;  she  knew  that  it  was  loaded,  and  she  knew  how  to 
use  it.  Even  as  the  masked  man  moved  away  into  the 
darkness,  she  fired  in  the  direction  whence  his  firm  foot- 
steps still  sent  their  repeated  echo. 

The  short,  sharp  report  died  out  in  the  still,  frosty  air; 
Crystal  vainly  strained  her  ears  to  catch  the  sound  of  a  fall 
or  a  groan.  But  in  the  confusion  that  ensued  she  could 
not  distinguish  any  individual  sound.  She  knew  that  Mme. 
la  Duchesse  and  Jeanne  had  screamed,  she  heard  a  few 
loud  curses,  the  clatter  of  bits  and  bridles,  the  snorting  of 


180  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

horses  and  presently  the  noise  of  several  horses  galloping 
away,  out  in  the  direction  of  Chambery. 
Then  nothing  more. 

VII 

M.  le  Comte  as  well  as  the  coachman  and  postillions  were 
lying  helpless  and  bound  somewhere  in  the  darkness.  It 
took  the  three  women  some  time  to  find  them  first  and 
then  to  release  them. 

Crystal  with  great  presence  of  mind  had  run  to  the 
horses'  heads,  directly  after  she  had  fired  that  random  shot. 
The  poor,  frightened  animals  had  reared  and  plunged,  and 
had  thereby  succeeded  in  dragging  the  heavy  carriage  out 
of  the  ditch.  After  which  they  had  stopped,  rigid  for  a 
moment  and  trembling  as  horses  will  sometimes  when  they 
are  terrified,  before  they  start  running  away  for  dear  life. 
That  moment  was  Crystal's  opportunity  and  fortunately  she 
took  it  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way. 

A  hand  on  the  leaders'  bridles,  a  soothing  voice,  the 
absence  of  further  alarming  noises  tended  at  once  to  quieten 
the  team — a  set  of  good  steady  Normandy  draft-horses 
with  none  too  much  corn  in  their  bellies  to  heat  their  slug- 
gish blood. 

While  Crystal  stood  at  her  post,  Mme.  la  Duchesse — 
cool  and  practical — found  her  way  firstly  to  M.  le  Comte, 
then  to  the  coachman  and  postillions,  and  ordering  Jeanne 
to  help  her,  she  succeeded  in  freeing  the  men  from  their 
bonds. 

Then  calling  to  one  of  them  to  precede  her  with  a  Ian- 
thorn,  she  started  on  the  quest  for  Maurice  de  St.  Genis. 
He  was  found — as  that  abominable  thief  had  said — some 
two  hundred  yards  up  the  road,  very  securely  bound  and 
with  his  own  handkerchief  tied  round  his  mouth,  but  other- 
wise comfortably  laid  on  a  dry  bit  of  roadside  grass. 

Mme.  la  Duchesse  would  not  reply  to  his  questions,  but 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  181 

after  he  was  released  and  able  to  stand  up  she  made  him 
give  her  a  brief  account  of  his  adventure.  It  had  all 
been  so  sudden  and  so  quick — he  had  fallen  back  a  little 
behind  the  carriage  as  soon  as  the  night  had  set  in,  as  he 
thought  it  safer  to  keep  along  the  edge  of  the  road.  He 
was  feeling  tired  and  drowsy,  and  allowing  his  horse  to 
amble  along  in  the  slow  jog-trot  peculiar  to  its  race.  No 
doubt  his  attention  had  for  some  time  been  on  the  wander, 
when,  all  at  once,  in  the  darkness  someone  seized  hold 
of  his  horse  by  the  bridle  and  forced  it  back  upon  its 
haunches.  The  next  moment  Maurice  felt  himself  grabbed 
by  the  leg,  and  dragged  off  his  horse :  he  shouted  for  help, 
but  the  carriage  was  on  ahead  and  its  own  rattle  pre- 
vented the  shouts  from  being  heard.  After  which  he  was 
bound  and  gagged  and  summarily  left  to  lie  by  the  road- 
side. He  had  had  no  chance  against  the  ruffians,  as  they 
were  numerous,  but  they  did  not  attempt  to  ill-use  him 
in  any  way. 

Slowly  hobbling  towards  the  carriage  beside  Mme.  la 
Duchesse,  for  he  was  cramped  and  stiff,  Maurice  told  her 
all  there  was  to  tell.  He  had  heard  the  distant  scuffle, 
the  shouts  and  calls,  also  one  pistol-shot  at  the  end,  but  he 
had  been  rendered  helpless  even  before  the  carriage  had 
come  to  a  halt  in  the  ditch. 

It  was  M.  le  Comte  who  in  his  accustomed  measured 
tones  now  gave  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  the  details  of  this 
awful  adventure:  the  ransacking  of  the  carriage  by  the 
mysterious  miscreant — the  loss  of  the  twenty-five  millions, 
the  complete  shattering  of  all  hope  to  help  the  King  with 
this  money  in  the  hour  of  his  need,  and  finally  Crystal's, 
desperate  act  of  revenge,  as  she  shot  the  pistol  off  into  the 
darkness,  hoping  at  least  to  disable  the  impudent  rogue  who 
had  done  them  and  the  King  such  a  fatal  injury. 

St.  Genis  listened  to  it  all  with  lips  held  tightly  pressed 
together,  firm  determination  causing  every  muscle  m  his 


182  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

body  to  grow  taut  and  firm  with  the  earnestness  of  his  re- 
solve. 

When  M.  le  Comte  had  finished  speaking,  and  with  a 
sigh  of  discouragement  had  suggested  an  immediate  con- 
tinuation of  his  journey,  Maurice  said  resolutely: 

"Do  you  go  on  straightway  to  Lyons  with  the  ladies,  my 
dear  Comte,  but  I  shall  not  leave  this  neighbourhood  till 
by  some  means  or  other  I  find  those  miscreants  and  lay 
their  infamous  leader  by  the  heel." 

"Well  spoken,  Maurice,"  said  the  Comte  guardedly,  "but 
how  will  you  do  it? — it  is  late  and  the  night  darker  than 
ever." 

"You  must  spare  me  one  of  your  horses,  my  dear  Comte," 
replied  the  young  man,  "as  mine  apparently  has  been 
stolen  by  those  abominable  thieves,  and  I'll  ride  back  to 
the  nearest  village — ^you  remember  we  passed  it  not  half 
an  hour  ago.  I'll  get  lodgings  there  and  get  some  infor- 
mation. In  the  meanwhile  perhaps  you  will  see  M.  le 
Comte  d'Artois  immediately,  tell  him  all  that  has  happened 
and  beg  him  to  send  me  as  early  in  the  morning  as  possible 
a  dozen  cavalrymen  or  so,  to  help  me  scour  the  country. 
I'll  be  on  the  look-out  for  them  on  this  road  by  six  o'clock, 
and,  please  God!  the  day  shall  not  go  by  before  we  have 
those  infamous  marauders  by  the  heels.  Twenty-five  mil- 
lions, remember,  are  not  dragged  about  open  country  quite 
so  easily  as  those  thieves  imagine.  They  are  bound  to 
leave  some  trace  of  their  whereabouts  sometimes." 

He  appeared  so  confident  and  so  cheerful  that  some  of 
his  optimism  infected  M.  le  Comte  too.  The  latter  prom- 
ised to  get  an  audience  of  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  that 
very  evening,  and  of  course  the  necessary  cavalry  patrol 
would  at  once  be  forthcoming. 

"God  grant  you  success,  Maurice,"  he  added  fervently, 
and  the  young  man's  energy  and  enthusiasm  were  also  re- 
warded by  a  warm,  glowing  look  from  Crystal. 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  183 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards,  M.  le  Comte's  travel- 
ling coach  was  once  more  ready  for  departure.  Pierre 
had  been  given  his  orders  to  make  due  haste  for  Lyons, 
and  to  drive  a  unicorn  team  of  three  horses  instead  of  a 
regulation  four,  whereupon  he  had  muttered  a  string  of 
oaths  which  would  have  caused  a  Paris  wine-shop  loafer 
to  blush. 

One  of  the  horses  thereupon  was  detached  from  the 
team  for  Maurice's  use  and  made  ready  with  one  of  the 
postillions'  saddles ;  the  other  postillion  had  to  climb  up  to 
the  seat  next  to  the  coachman:  all  three  men  were  feeling 
not  a  little  shamed  at  the  sorry  role  which  they  had  just 
played,  and  they  vowed  revenge  against  the  mysterious 
thieves  who  had  sprung  upon  them  unawares  and  in  the 
dark,  or  Mordieu!  they  would  have  suffered  severely  for 
their  impudence. 

In  silence  M.  le  Comte,  Mme.  la  Duchesse  and  Crystal, 
followed  by  faithful  Jeanne,  re-entered  the  carriage.  No 
one  had  been  hurt.  M.  le  Comte's  arms  felt  a  little  stiff 
from  the  cords  which  had  bound  them  behind  his  back  and 
Jeanne  was  inclined  to  be  hysterical,  but  Crystal  felt  a 
fierce  resentment  burning  in  her  heart.  Somehow  she 
had  no  hope  that  Maurice  would  succeed,  even  though 
she  threw  him  at  the  last  a  kindly  and  encouraging  smile. 
Her  one  hope  was  that  she  had  inflicted  a  painful  if  not  a 
deadly  wound  upon  the  shameless  robber  of  the  King's  money. 

Soon  the  party  was  once  more  comfortably  settled  and 
the  cumbrous  vehicle,  after  another  violent  lurch,  was 
once  more  on  its  way. 

"Farewell,  Maurice!  good  luck!"  called  M.  le  Comte 
at  the  last. 

The  young  man  waited  until  the  heavy  carriage  swung 
more  easily  upon  its  springs,  then  he  mounted  his  horse, 
turned  its  head  in  the  opposite  direction  and  rode  slowly 
back  up  the  road. 


184  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Inside  the  vehicle  all  was  silent  for  a  while,  then  M. 
le  Comte  asked  quietly: 

"Did  he  find  everything?" 

*'Everything,"  replied  Crystal. 

*'I  put  in  five  wallets." 

**Yes.     He  took  them  all." 

"It  is  curious  they  should  have  fallen  on  us  just  by  that 
broken  bridge." 

"They  were  lying  in  wait  for  us,  of  course." 

"Knowing  that  we  had  the  money,  do  you  think  ?"  asked 
the  Comte. 

"Of  course,"  replied  Crystal  with  still  that  note  of  bitter 
resentment  in  her  voice. 

"But  who,  besides  ourselves  and  the  prefet?  .  .  ."  be- 
gan the  Comte,  who  clearly  was  very  puzzled. 

"Victor  de  Marmont  for  one  .  .  ."   retorted  the  girl. 

"Surely  you  don't  suppose  that  he  would  play  the  role 
of  a  highwayman  and  .  .  ." 

"No,  I  don't,"  she  broke  in  somewhat  impatiently,  "he 
wouldn't  have  the  pluck  for  one  thing,  and  moreover  the 
masked  man  was  considerably  taller  than  Victor." 

"Well,  then?" 

"It  is  only  an  idea,  father,  dear,"  she  said  more  gently, 
"but  somehow  I  cannot  believe  that  this  was  just  ordinary 
highway  robbery.  This  road  is  supposed  to  be  quite  safe : 
travellers  are  not  warned  against  armed  highwaymen,  and 
marauders  wouldn't  be  so  well  horsed  and  clothed.  My 
belief  is  that  it  was  a  paid  gang  stationed  at  the  broken 
bridge  on  purpose  to  rob  us  and  no  one  else." 

"Maurice  will  soon  be  after  them  to-morrow,  and  I'll 
see  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  directly  we  get  to  Lyons,"  said 
the  Comte  after  a  slight  pause,  during  which  he  was  obvi- 
ously pondering  over  his  daughter's  suggestion. 

"It  won't  be  any  use,  father,"  Crystal  said  with  a  sigh. 
"The  whole  thing  has  been  organised,  I  feel  sure,  and  the 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  185 

head  that  planned  this  abominable  robbery  will  know  how 
to  place  his  booty  in  safety." 

Whereupon  the  Comte  sighed,  for  he  was  too  well-bred 
to  curse  in  the  presence  of  his  daughter  and  his  sister. 
Mme.  la  Duchesse  had  said  nothing  all  this  while:  nor 
did  she  offer  any  comment  upon  the  mysterious  occurrence 
all  the  time  that  the  next  stage  of  the  wearisome  journey 
proceeded. 

VIII 

Less  than  an  hour  later  the  coach  came  to  a  halt  once 
more. 

M.  le  Comte  woke  up  with  a  start. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  is  it  now?" 

Crystal  had  not  been  asleep :  her  thoughts  were  too  busy, 
her  brain  too  much  tormented  with  trying  to  find  some 
plausible  answer  to  the  riddle  which  agitated  her:  "Who 
had  planned  this  abominable  robbery?  Was  it  indeed  Vic- 
tor de  Marmont  himself?  or  had  a  greater,  a  mightier  mind 
than  his  discovered  the  secret  of  this  swift  journey  to 
Paris  and  ordered  the  clever  raid  upon  the  treasure?" 

The  rumble  of  the  wheels  had — though  she  was  awake — 
prevented  her  from  hearing  the  rapid  approach  of  a  number 
of  horses  in  the  wake  of  the  coach,  until  a  peremptory: 
"Halt!  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor!"  suddenly  chased 
every  other  thought  away ;  like  her  father  she  murmured : 
"My  God!  what  is  it  now?" 

This  time  there  was  no  mystery,  there  would  be  no 
puzzlement  as  to  the  meaning  of  this  fresh  attack.  The 
air  was  full  of  those  sounds  that  denote  the  presence  of 
many  horses  and  of  many  men;  there  was,  too,  the  clink- 
ing of  metal,  the  champing  of  steel  bits,  the  brief  words 
of  command  which  proclaimed  the  men  to  be  soldiers. 

They  appeared  to  be  all  round  the  coach,  for  the  noise 
of  their  presence   came   from  everywhere  at  once. 


186  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Already  the  Comte  had  put  his  head  out  of  the  window : 
"What  is  it  now?"  he  asked  again,  more  peremptorily  this 
time. 

"In  the  name  of  the  Emperor!"  was  the  loud   reply. 

"We  do  not  halt  in  the  name  of  an  usurper,"  said  the 
Comte.     "En  avant,  Pierre!" 

"You  urge  those  horses  on  at  your  peril,  coachman,"  was 
the  defiant  retort. 

A  quick  word  of  command  was  given,  there  was  more 
clanking  of  metal,  snorting  of  horses,  loud  curses  from 
Pierre  on  the  box,  and  the  commanding  voice  spoke  again : 

"M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray!" 

"That  is  my  name!"  replied  the  Comte.  "And  who  is 
it,  pray,  who  dares  impede  peaceful  travellers  on  their 
way?" 

"By  order  of  the  Emperor,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"I  know  of  no  such  person  in  France!" 

"Vive  I'Empereur!"  was  shouted  defiantly  in  response. 

Whereupon  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray — proud,  disdainful 
and  determined  to  show  no  fear  or  concern,  withdrew  from 
the  window  and  threw  himself  back  against  the  cushions  of 
the  carriage. 

"What  in  the  Virgin's  name  is  the  meaning  of  this?" 
murmured  Mme.  la  Duchesse. 

"God  in  heaven  only  knows,"  sighed  the  Comte. 

But  obviously  the  coach  had  not  been  stopped  by  a 
troop  of  mounted  soldiers  for  the  mere  purpose  of  proclaim- 
ing the  Emperor's  name  on  the  high  road  in  the  dark. 
The  same  commanding  voice  which  had  answered  the 
Comte's  challenge  was  giving  rapid  orders  to  dismount 
and  to  bring  along  one  of  the  carriage  lanthorns. 

The  next  moment  the  door  of  the  coach  was  opened 
from  without,  and  the  light  of  the  lanthorn  held  up  by 
a  man  in  uniform  fell  full  on  the  figure  and  on  the  profile 
of  Victor  de  Marmont. 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  187 

"M.  le  Comte,  I  regret,"  he  said  coldly,  "in  the  name 
of  the  Emperor  I  must  demand  from  you  the  restitution 
of  his  property." 

The  Comte  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  vouchsafed  no 
reply. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  said  de  Marmont,  more  peremptorily 
this  time,  "I  have  twenty-four  men  with  me,  who  will  seize 
by  force  if  necessary  that  which  I  herewith  command  you 
to  give  up  voluntarily." 

Still  no  reply.  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  would  think 
himself  bemeaned  were  he  to  parley  with  a  traitor. 

"As  you  will,  M.  le  Comte,''  was  de  Marmont's  calm 
comment  on  the  old  man's  attitude.  "Sergeant!"  he  com- 
manded, "seize  the  four  persons  in  this  coach.  Three 
of  them  are  women,  so  be  as  gentle  as  you  can.  Go  round 
to  the  other  door  first." 

"Father,"  now  urged  Crystal  gently,  "do  you  think  that 
this  is  wise — or  dignified?" 

"Wisely  spoken.  Mile,  Crystal,"  rejoined  de  Marmont. 
"Have  I  not  said  that  I  have  two  dozen  soldiers  with  me 
— all  trained  to  do  their  duty?  Why  should  M.  le  Comte 
allow  them  to  lay  hands  upon  you  and  on  Mme.  la  Du- 
chesse  ?" 

"It  is  an  outrage,"  broke  in  the  Comte  savagely.  "You 
and  your  soldiers  are  traitors,  rebels  and  deserters." 

"But  we  are  in  superior  numbers,  M.  le  Comte,"  said 
de  Marmont  with  a  sneer.  "Would  it  not  be  wiser  to  yield 
with  a  good  grace?  Mme.  la  Duchesse,"  he  added  with  an 
attempt  at  geniality,  "yours  was  always  the  wise  head,  I 
am  told,  that  guided  the  affairs  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cam- 
bray in  the  past.     Will  you  not  advise  him  now?" 

"I  would,  my  good  man,"  retorted  the  Duchesse,  "but 
my  wise  counsels  would  benefit  no  one  now,  seeing  that 
you  have  been  sent  on  a  fool's  errand." 

De  Marmont  laughed. 


188  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Does  Mme.  la  Duchesse  mean  to  deny  that  twenty-five 
million  francs  belonging  to  the  Emperor  are  hidden  at  this 
moment  inside  this  coach  ?" 

"I  deny,  Monsieur  de  Marmont,  that  any  twenty-five 
million  francs  belong  to  the  son  of  an  impecunious  Cor- 
sican  attorney — and  I  also  deny  that  any  twenty-five  million 
francs  are  in  this  coach  at  the  present  moment." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  desire  to  ascertain,  Madame." 

"Ascertain  by  all  means  then,"  quoth  Madame  impa- 
tiently, "the  other  thief  ascertained  the  same  thing  an  hour 
ago,  and  I  must  confess  that  he  did  so  more  profitably 
than  you  are  like  to  do." 

"The  other  thief?"  exclaimed  de  Marmont,  greatly  puz- 
zled. 

"It  is  as  Mme.  la  Duchesse  has  deigned  to  tell  you," 
here  interposed  the  Comte  coolly.  "I  have  no  objection 
to  your  knowing  that  I  had  intended  to  convey  to  His 
Majesty  the  King — its  rightful  owner — a  sum  of  money — 
originally  stolen  by  the  Corsican  usurper  from  France — 
but  that  an  hour  ago  a  party  of  armed  thieves — ^just  like 
yourself — attacked  us,  bound  and  gagged  me  and  my  men, 
ransacked  my  coach  and  made  off  with  the  booty." 

"And  I  thank  God  now,"  murmured  Crystal  involun- 
tarily, "that  the  money  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  com- 
mon highwayman  rather  than  in  those  of  the  scourge  of 
mankind." 

"M.  le  Comte  .  .  ."  stammered  de  Marmont,  who,  still 
incredulous,  yet  vaguely  alarmed,  was  nevertheless  deter- 
mined not  to  accept  this  extraordinary  narrative  with  blind 
confidence. 

But  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray's  dignity  rose  at  last  to 
the  occasion:  "You  choose  to  disbelieve  me,  Monsieur?" 
he  asked  quietly. 

De  Marmont  made  no  reply. 

"Will  my  word  of  honour  not  suffice?" 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  189 

"My  orders,  M.  le  Comte,"  said  de  Marmont  gruffly, 
"are  that  I  bring  back  to  my  Emperor  the  money  that  is 
his.     I  will  not  leave  one  stone  unturned  .  .  ." 

"Enough,  Monsieur,"  broke  in  the  Comte  with  calm  dig- 
nity. "We  will  alight  now,  if  your  soldiers  will  stand 
aside." 

And  for  the  second  time  on  this  eventful  night,  Mme. 
la  Duchesse  d'Agen  and  Mile.  Crystal  de  Cambray,  to- 
gether with  faithful  Jeanne,  were  forced  to  alight  from 
the  coach  and  to  stand  by  while  the  cushions  of  the  car- 
riage were  being  turned  over  by  the  light  of  a  flickering 
lanthorn  and  every  corner  of  the  interior  ransacked  for 
the  elusive  treasure. 

"There  is  nothing  here,  mon  Colonel,"  said  a  gruff  voice 
out  of  the  darkness,  after  a  while. 

A  loud  curse  broke  from  de  Marmont's  lips. 

"You  are  satisfied?"  asked  the  Comte  coldly,  "that  I 
have  told  you  the  truth?" 

"Search  the  luggage  in  the  boot,"  cried  de  Marmont 
savagely,  without  heeding  him,  "search  the  men  on  the  box ! 
bring  more  light  here!  That  money  is  somewhere  in  this 
coach,  I'll  swear.  If  I  do  not  find  it  I'll  take  every  one 
here  back  a  prisoner  to  Grenoble  .  .  .  or  .  .  ." 

He  paused,  himself  ashamed  of  what  he  had  been  about 
to  say. 

"Or  you  will  order  your  soldiers  to  lay  hands  upon  our 
persons,  is  that  it,  M.  de  Marmont  ?"  broke  in  Crystal  coldly. 

He  made  no  reply,  for  of  a  truth  that  had  been  his 
thought :  foiled  in  his  hope  of  rendering  his  beloved  Em- 
peror so  signal  a  service,  he  had  lost  all  sense  of  chivalry 
in  this  overwhelming  feeling  of  baffled  rage. 

Crystal's  cold  challenge  recalled  him  to  himself,  and 
now  he  felt  ashamed  of  what  he  had  just  contemplated, 
ashamed,  too,  of  what  he  had  done.  He  hated  the  Comte 
...  he  hated  all  royalists  and  all  enemies  of  the  Emperor 


190  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

.  .  .  but  he  hated  the  Comte  doubly  because  of  the  insults 
which  he  (de  Marmont)  had  had  to  endure  that  evening 
at  Brestalou,  He  had  looked  upon  this  expedition  as  a 
means  of  vengeance  for  those  insults,  a  means,  too,  of 
showing  his  power  and  his  worth  before  Crystal  and  of 
winning  her  through  that  power  which  the  Emperor  had 
given  him,  and  through  that  worth  which  the  Emperor 
had  recognised. 

But,  though  he  hated  the  Comte  he  knew  him  to  be  ab- 
solutely incapable  of  telling  a  deliberate  lie,  and  absolutely 
incapable  of  bartering  his  word  of  honour  for  the  sake 
of  his  own  safety. 

Crystal's  words  brought  this  knowledge  back  to  his  mind ; 
and  now  the  desire  seized  him  to  prove  himself  as  chival- 
rous as  he  was  powerful.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who 
are  so  absolutely  ignorant  of  a  woman's  nature  that  they 
believe  that  a  woman's  love  can  be  won  by  deeds  as  apart 
from  personality,  and  that  a  woman's  dislike  and  contempt 
can  be  changed  into  love.  He  loved  Crystal  more  abso- 
lutely now  than  he  had  ever  done  in  the  days  when  he 
was  practically  her  accepted  suitor:  his  unbridled  and  ca- 
pricious nature  clung  desperately  to  that  which  he  could  not 
hold,  and  since  he  had  felt — that  evening  at  Brestalou — 
that  his  political  convictions  had  placed  an  insuperable  bar- 
rier between  himself  and  Crystal  de  Cambray,  he  felt  that 
no  woman  on  earth  could  ever  be  quite  so  desirable. 

His  mistake  lay  in  this :  that  he  believed  that  it  was  his 
political  convictions  alone  which  had  turned  Crystal  away 
from  him :  he  felt  that  he  could  have  won  her  love  through 
her  submission  once  she  was  his  wife,  now  he  found  that 
he  would  have  to  win  her  love  first  and  her  wifely  sub- 
mission would  only  follow  afterwards. 

Just  now — though  in  the  gloom  he  could  only  see  the 
vague  outline  of  her  graceful  form,  and  only  heard  her 
voice  as  through  a  veil  of  darkness — he  had  the  longing  to 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  191 

prove  himself  at  once  worthy  of  her  regard  and  deserving 
of  her  gratitude. 

Without  replying  to  her  direct  challenge,  he  made  a  vigor- 
ous effort  to  curb  his  rage,  and  to  master  his  disappointment. 
Then  he  gave  a  few  brief  comamnds  to  his  sergeant,  order- 
ing him  to  repair  the  disorder  inside  the  coach,  and  to  stop 
all  further  searching  both  of  the  vehicle  and  of  the  men. 

Finally  he  said  with  calm  dignity :  "M.  le  Comte,  I  must 
offer  you  my  humble  apologies  for  the  inconvenience  to 
which  you  have  been  subjected.  I  humbly  beg  Mme.  la 
Duchesse  and  Mademoiselle  Crystal  to  accept  these  ex- 
pressions of  my  profound  regret.  A  soldier's  life  and  a 
soldier's  duty  must  be  my  excuse  for  the  part  I  was  forced 
to  take  in  this  untoward  happening.  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  I 
pray  you  deign  to  re-enter  your  carriage.  M.  le  Comte,  if 
there  is  aught  I  can  do  for  you,  I  pray  you  command 
me.  .  .  ." 

Neither  the  Duchesse  nor  the  Comte,  however,  deigned 
to  take  the  slightest  notice  of  the  abominable  traitor  and 
of  his  long  tirade.  Madame  was  shivering  with  cold  and 
yawning  with  fatigue,  and  in  her  heart  consigned  the  young 
brute  to  everlasting  torments. 

The  Comte  would  have  thought  it  beneath  his  dignity 
to  accept  any  explanation  from  a  follower  of  the  Corsican 
usurper.  Without  a  word  he  was  now  helping  his  sister 
into  the  carriage. 

Jeanne,  of  course,  hardly  counted — she  was  dazed  into 
semi-imbecihty  by  the  renewed  terrors  she  had  just  gone 
through :  so  for  the  moment  Victor  felt  that  Crystal  was 
isolated  from  the  others.  She  stood  a  little  to  one  side- 
he  could  only  just  see  her,  as  the  sergeant  was  holding  up 
the  lanthorn  for  Mme.  la  Duchesse  to  see  her  way  into  the 
coach.  M.  le  Comte  went  on  to  give  a  few  directions  to 
the  coachman. 

"Mademoiselle  Crystal !"  murmured  Victor  softly. 


192  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

And  he  made  a  step  forward  so  that  now  she  could  not 
move  toward  the  carriage  without  brushing  against  him. 
But  she  made  no  reply. 

"Mademoiselle  Crystal,"  he  said  again,  "have  you  not 
one  single  kind  word  for  me  ?" 

"A  kind  word  ?"  she  retorted  almost  involuntarily,  "after 
such  an  outrage  ?" 

"I  am  a  soldier,"  he  urged,  "and  had  to  do  my  duty." 

"You  were  a  soldier  once,  M.  de  Marmont — a  soldier  of 
the  King.     Now  you  are  only  a  deserter." 

"A  soldier  of  the  Emperor,  Mademoiselle,  of  the  man 
who  led  France  to  victory  and  to  glory,  and  will  do  so 
again,  now  that  he  has  come  back  into  his  own  once  more." 

"You  and  I,  M.  de  Marmont,"  she  said  coldly,  "look  at 
France  from  different  points  of  view.  This  is  neither 
the  hour  nor  the  place  to  discuss  our  respective  sentiments. 
I  pray  you,  allow  me  to  join  my  aunt  in  the  carriage.  I  am 
cold  and  tired,  and  she  will  be  anxious  for  me." 

"Will  you  at  least  give  me  one  word  of  encouragement, 
Mademoiselle?"  he  urged.  "As  you  say,  our  points  of  view 
are  very  different.  But  I  am  on  the  high  road  to  fortune. 
The  Emperor  is  back  in  France,  the  army  flocks  to  his 
eagles  as  one  man.  He  trusts  me  and  I  shall  rise  to  great- 
ness under  his  wing.  Mademoiselle  Crystal,  you  promised 
me  your  hand,  I  have  not  released  you  from  that  promise 
yet.    I  will  come  and  claim  it  soon." 

"Excitement  seems  to  have  turned  your  brain,  M.  de 
Marmont,"  was  all  that  Crystal  said,  and  she  walked  straight 
past  him  to  the  carriage  door. 

Victor  smothered  a  curse.  These  aristos  were  as  arrogant 
as  ever.  What  lesson  had  the  revolution  and  the  guillotine 
taught  them?  None.  This  girl  who  had  spent  her  whole 
life  in  poverty  and  exile,  and  was  like — after  a  brief  inter- 
regnum— to  return  to  exile  and  poverty  again,  was  not  a 
whit  less  proud  than  her  kindred  had  been   when  they 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  193 

walked  in  their  hundreds  up  the  steps  of  the  guillotine 
with  a  smile  of  lofty  disdain  upon  their  lips. 

Victor  de  Marmont  was  a  son  of  the  people — of  those 
who  had  made  the  revolution  and  had  fought  the  whole 
of  Europe  in  order  to  establish  their  right  to  govern  them- 
selves as  they  thought  best,  and  he  hated  all  these  aristos — 
the  men  who  had  fled  from  their  country  and  abandoned 
it  when  she  needed  her  sons'  help  more  than  she  had  ever 
done  before. 

The  aristocrat  was  for  him  synonymous  with  the  emigre 
— with  the  man  who  had  raised  a  foreign  army  to  fight 
against  France,  who  had  brought  the  foreigner  marching 
triumphantly  into  Paris.  He  hated  the  aristocrat,  but  he 
loved  Crystal,  the  one  desirable  product  of  that  old  regimfe 
system  which  he  abhorred. 

But  with  him  a  woman's  love  meant  a  woman's  sub- 
mission. He  was  more  determined  than  ever  now  to  win 
her,  but  he  wanted  to  win  her  through  her  humiliation  and 
his  triumph — excitement  had  turned  his  brain?  Well!  so 
be  it,  fear  and  oppression  would  turn  her  heart  and  crush 
her  pride. 

He  made  no  further  attempt  to  detain  her :  he  had  asked 
for  a  kind  word  and  she  had  given  him  withering  scorn. 
Excitement  had  turned  his  brain  ...  he  was  not  even 
worthy  of  parley — not  even  worthy  of  a  formal  refusal! 

To  his  credit  be  it  said  that  the  thought  of  immediate 
revenge  did  not  enter  his  mind  then.  He  might  have 
subjected  her  then  and  there  to  deadly  outrage — he  might 
have  had  her  personal  efifects  searched,  her  person  touched 
by  the  rough  hands  of  his  soldiers.  But  though  his  estimate 
of  a  woman's  love  was  a  low  one,  it  was  not  so  base  as 
to  imagine  that  Crystal  de  Cambray  would  ever  forgive 
so  dastardly  an  insult. 

As  she  walked  past  him  to  the  door,  however,  he  said 
under  his  breath: 


ICi  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Remember,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  and  your  family  at 
this  moment  are  absolutely  in  my  power,  and  that  it  is 
only  because  of  my  regard  for  you  that  I  let  you  all  now 
depart  from  here  in  peace." 

Whether  she  heard  or  not,  he  could  not  say;  certain  it 
is  that  she  made  no  reply,  nor  did  she  turn  toward  him  at 
all.  The  light  of  the  lanthorn  lit  up  her  delicate  profile, 
pale  and  drawn,  her  tightly  pressed  lips,  the  look  of  utter 
contempt  in  her  eyes,  which  even  the  fitful  shadow  cast  by 
her  hair  over  her  brows  could  not  altogether  conceal. 

The  Comte  had  given  what  instructions  he  wished  to 
Pierre.  He  stood  by  the  carriage  door  waiting  for  his 
daughter :  no  doubt  he  had  heard  what  went  on  between  her 
and  de  Marmont,  and  was  content  to  leave  her  to  deal  what 
scorn  was  necessary  for  the  humiliation  of  the  traitor. 

He  helped  Crystal  into  the  carriage,  and  also  the  imfor- 
tunate  Jeanne ;  finally  he  too  followed,  and  pulled  the  door 
to  behind  him, 

Victor  did  not  wait  to  see  the  coach  make  a  start.  He 
gave  the  order  to  remount. 

"How  far  are  we  from  St.  Priest?"  he  asked. 

"Not  eight  kilometres,  mon  Colonel,"  was  the  reply. 

"En  avant  then,  ventre-a-terre !"  he  commanded,  as  he 
swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 

The  great  high  road  between  Grenoble  and  Lyons  is  very 
wide,  and  Pierre  had  no  need  to  draw  his  horses  to  one  side, 
as  de  Marmont  and  his  troop,  after  much  scrambling, 
champing  of  bits  and  clanking  of  metal,  rode  at  a  sharp 
trot  past  the  coach  and  him. 

For  some  few  moments  the  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs 
on  the  hard  road  kept  the  echoes  of  the  night  busy  with 
their  resonance,  but  soon  that  sound  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  still — after  five  minutes  it  died  away  altogether. 

M.  de  Comte  put  his  head  out  of  the  window. 

*'Eh  bien,  Pierre,"  he  called,  "why  don't  we  start?" 


THE  EMPRESS'  MILLIONS  195 

The  postillion  cracked  his  whip;  Pierre  shouted  to  his 
horses ;  the  heavy  coach  groaned  and  creaked  and  was  once 
more  on  its  way. 

In  the  interior  no  one  spoke.  Jeanne's  terror  had  melted 
in  a  silent  flow  of  tears. 

Lyons  was  reached  shortly  before  midnight.  M.  le- 
Comte's  carriage  had  some  difficulty  in  entering  the  town, 
as  by  orders  of  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  it  had  already  been 
placed  in  a  state  of  defence  against  the  possible  advance 
of  the  "band  of  pirates  from  Corsica."  The  bridge  of  La 
Guillotiere  had  been  strongly  barricaded  and  it  took  M.  le 
Comte  de  Cambray  some  little  time  to  establish  his  identity 
before  the  officer  in  command  of  the  post  allowed  him  to 
proceed  on  his  way. 

The  town  was  fairly  full  owing  to  the  presence  of  M.  le 
Comte  d'Artois,  who  had  taken  up  his  quarters  at  the  archie- 
piscopal  palace,  and  of  his  staff,  who  were  scattered  in 
various  houses  about  the  town.  Nevertheless  M.  le  Comte^ 
and  his  family  were  fortunate  enough  in  obtaining  com- 
fortable accommodation  at  the  Hotel  Bourbon. 

The  party  was  very  tired,  and  after  a  light  supper  re- 
tired to  bed. 

But  not  before  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  had  sent  a 
special  autographed  message  to  Monseigneur  le  Comte 
d'Artois  explaining  to  him  under  what  tragic  circumstances 
the  sum  of  twenty-five  million  francs  destined  to  reach  His 
Majesty  the  King  had  fallen  into  a  common  highwayman's 
hands  and  begging  that  a  posse  of  cavalry  be  sent  out  on 
the  road  after  the  marauders  and  be  placed  under  the  orders 
of  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis,  who  would  be  on  the  look- 
out for  their  arrival.  He  begged  that  the  posse  should 
consist  of  not  less  than  thirty  men,  seeing  that  some  armed 
followers  of  the  Corsican  brigand  were  also  somewhere 
on  the  way. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  RIVALS 


The  weather  did  not  improve  as  the  night  wore  on:  soon 
a  thin,  cold  drizzle  added  to  the  dreariness  and  to  Maurice 
de  St.  Genis'  ever-growing  discomfort. 

He  had  started  off  gaily  enough,  cheered  by  Crystal's 
warm  look  of  encouragement  and  comforted  by  the  feeling 
of  certainty  that  he  would  get  even  with  that  mysterious 
enemy  who  had  so  impudently  thrown  himself  athwart  a 
plan  which  had  service  of  the  King  for  its  sole  object. 

Maurice  had  not  exchanged  confidences  with  Crystal  since 
the  adventure,  but  his  ideas — without  his  knowing  it — 
absolutely  coincided  with  hers.  He,  too,  was  quite  sure 
that  no  common  footpad  had  engineered  their  daring  at- 
tack. Positive  knowledge  of  the  money  and  its  destination 
had  been  the  fountain  from  which  had  sprung  the  comedy 
of  the  masked  highwayman  and  his  little  band  of  robbers. 
Maurice  mentally  reckoned  that  there  must  have  been 
at  least  half  a  dozen  of  these  bravo? — of  the  sort  that  in 
these  times  were  easily  enough  hired  in  any  big  city  to  play 
any  part,  from  that  of  armed  escort  to  nervous  travellers 
to  that  of  seeker  of  secret  information  for  the  benefit  of 
either  political  party — loafers  that  hung  round  the  wine- 
shops in  search  of  a  means  of  earning  a  few  days'  rations, 
discharged  soldiers  of  the  Empire  some  of  them,  whose 
loyalty  to  the  Restoration  had  been  questioned  from  the 
first. 

196 


THE  RIVALS  I97 

Maurice  had  no  doubt  that  whatever  motive  had  actuated 
the  originator  of  the  bold  plan  to  possess  himself  of  twenty- 
five  million  francs,  he  had  deliberately  set  to  work  to  em- 
ploy men  of  that  type  to  help  him  in  his  task. 

It  had  all  been  very  audacious  and — Maurice  was  bound 
to  admit — very  well  carried  out.  As  for  the  motive,  he 
was  never  for  a  moment  in  doubt.  It  was  a  Bonapartist  plot, 
of  that  he  felt  sure,  as  well  as  of  the  fact  that  Victor  de 
Marmont  was  the  originator  of  it  all.  He  probably  had  not 
taken  any  active  part  in  the  attack,  but  he  had  employed 
the  men — Maurice  would  have  taken  an  oath  on  that ! 

The  Comte  de  Cambray  must  have  let  fall  an  unguarded 
hint  in  the  course  of  his  last  interview  with  de  Marmont 
at  Brestalou,  and  when  Victor  went  away  disgraced  and 
discomfited  he,  no  doubt,  thought  to  take  his  revenge  in 
the  way  most  calculated  to  injure  both  the  Comte  and  the 
royalist  cause. 

Satisfied  with  this  mental  explanation  of  past  events,  St 
Genis  had  ridden  on  in  the  darkness,  his  spirits  kept  up 
with  hopes  and  thoughts  of  a  glaring  counter  revenge. 
But  his  limbs  were  still  stiff  and  bruised  from  the  cramped 
position  in  which  he  had  lain  for  so  long,  and  presently, 
when  the  cold  drizzle  began  to  penetrate  to  his  bones, 
his  enthusiasm  and  confidence  dwindled.  The  village 
seemed  to  recede  further  and  further  into  the  distance. 
He  thought  when  he  had  ridden  through  it  earlier  in  the 
evening  that  it  was  not  very  far  from  the  scene  of  the 
attack — a  dozen  kilometres  perhaps — ^now  it  seemed  more 
like  thirty;  he  thought  too  that  it  was  a  village  of  some 
considerable  size — five  hundred  souls  or  perhaps  rnore 
he  had  noticed  as  he  rode  through  it  a  well-illuminated, 
one-storied  house,  and  the  words  "Debit  de  vins"  and 
"Chambres  pour  voyageurs"  painted  in  bold  characters 
above  the  front  door.  But  now  he  had  ridden  on  and  on 
along  the  dark  road  for  what  seemed  endless  hours— uncon- 


*a98  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

scious  of  time  save  that  it  was  dragging  on  leaden-footed 
and  wearisome  .  .  .  and  still  no  light  on  ahead  to  betray 
the  presence  of  human  habitations,  no  distant  church  bells 
to  mark  the  progress  of  the  night. 

At  last,  in  desperation,  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  had  thought 
of  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak  and  getting  what  rest 
he  could  by  the  roadside,  for  he  was  getting  very  tired 
and  saddle-sore,  when  on  his  left  he  perceived  in  the  far 
distance,  glimmering  through  the  mist,  two  small  lights 
like  bright  eyes  shining  in  the  darkness. 

What  kind  of  a  way  led  up  to  those  welcome  lights,  Mau- 
rice had,  of  course,  no  idea ;  but  they  proclaimed  at  any  rate 
the  presence  of  human  beings,  of  a  house,  of  the  warmth 
of  fire;  and  without  hesitation  the  young  man  turned  his 
horse's  head  at  right  angles  from  the  road. 

He  had  crossed  a  couple  of  ploughed  fields  and  an  inter- 
vening ditch,  when  in  the  distance  to  his  right  and  behind 
him  he  heard  the  sound  of  horses  at  a  brisk  trot,  going  in 
the  direction  of  Lyons. 

Maurice  drew  rein  for  a  moment  and  listened  until  the 
sound  came  nearer.  There  must  have  been  at  least  a  score 
of  mounted  men — a.  military  patrol  sent  out  by  M.  le  Comte 
d'Artois,  no  doubt,  and  now  on  its  way  back  to  Lyons.  Just 
for  a  second  or  two  the  young  man  had  thoughts  of  joining 
up  with  the  party  and  asking  their  help  or  their  escort: 
he  even  gave  a  vigorous  shout  which,  however,  was  lost 
in  the  clang  and  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  and  of  the  ac- 
companying jingle  of  metal. 

He  turned  his  horse  back  the  way  he  had  come ;  but  before 
he  had  recrossed  one  of  the  ploughed  fields,  the  troop  of 
mounted  men — whatever  they  were — had  passed  by,  and 
Maurice  was  left  once  more  in  solitude,  shouting  and 
calling  in  vain. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  then,  but  to  turn  back  again, 
and  to  make  his  way  as  best  he  could  toward  those  inviting 


THE  RIVALS  199 

lights.  In  any  case  nothing  could  have  been  done  in  this 
pitch-dark  night  against  the  highway  thieves,  and  St.  Genis 
had  no  fear  that  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  would  fail  to  send 
him  help  for  his  expedition  against  them  on  the  morrow. 

The  lights  on  ahead  were  getting  perceptibly  nearer,  soon 
they  detached  themselves  still  more  clearly  in  the  gloom — 
other  lights  appeared  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood — too 
few  for  a  village — thought  Maurice,  and  grouped  closely  to- 
gether, suggesting  a  main  building  surrounded  by  other 
smaller  ones  close  by. 

Soon  the  whole  outline  of  the  house  could  be  traced 
through  the  enveloping  darkness:  two  of  the  windows 
were  lighted  from  within,  and  an  oil  lamp,  flickering  feebly, 
was  fixed  in  a  recess  just  above  the  door.  The  welcome 
words :  "Chambres  pour  voyageurs.  Aristide  Briot,  pro- 
prietaire,"  greeted  Maurice's  wearied  eyes  as  he  drew  rein. 
Good  luck  was  apparently  attending  him  for,  thus  picking 
his  way  across  fields,  he  had  evidently  struck  an  out-of- 
the-way  hostelry  on  some  bridle  path  off  the  main  road, 
which  was  probably  a  short  cut  between  Chambery  and 
Vienne. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  he  managed  to  dismount — stiff  as  he 
was — and  having  tried  the  door  and  found  it  fastened,  he 
hammered  against  it  with  his  boot. 

A  few  moments  later,  the  bolts  were  drawn  and  an 
elderly  man  in  blue  blouse  and  wide  trousers,  his  sabots 
stuffed  with  straw,  came  shuffling  out  of  the  door. 

''Who's  there?"  he  called  in  a  feeble,  querulous  voice. 

"A  traveller— on  horseback,"  replied  Maurice.  "Come, 
petit  pere,"  he  added  more  impatiently,  "will  you  take  my 
horse  or  call  to  one  of  your  men?" 

"It  is  too  late  to  take  in  travellers,"  muttered  the  old 
man.  "It  is  nearly  midnight,  and  everyone  is  abed  ex- 
cept me." 

"Too  late,  morbleu?'  exclaimed  the  young  man  peremp- 


200  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

torily.  "You  surely  are  not  thinking  of  refusing  shelter  to 
a  traveller  on  a  night  like  this.  Why,  how  far  is  it  to  the 
nearest  village  ?" 

**It  is  very  late,"  reiterated  the  old  man  plaintively,  "and 
my  house  is  quite  full." 

"There's  a  shake-down  in  the  kitchen  anyway,  I'll  warrant, 
and  one  for  my  horse  somewhere  in  an  outhouse,"  retorted 
Maurice  as  without  more  ado  he  suddenly  threw  the  reins 
into  the  old  man's  hand  and  unceremoniously  pushed  him 
into  the  house. 

The  man  appeared  to  hesitate  for  a  moment  or  two.  He 
grumbled  and  muttered  something  which  Maurice  did  not 
hear,  and  his  shrewd  eyes — ^the  knowing  eyes  of  a  peasant 
of  the  Dauphine — ^took  a  rapid  survey  of  the  belated  travel- 
ler's clothes,  the  expensive  caped  coat,  the  well-made  boots, 
the  fashionable  hat,  which  showed  up  clearly  now  by  the 
light  from  within. 

Satisfied  that  there  could  be  no  risk  in  taking  in  so  well- 
dressed  a  traveller,  feeling  moreover  that  a  good  horse  was 
always  a  hostage  for  the  payment  of  the  bill  in  the  morning, 
the  man  now,  without  another  word  or  look  at  his  guest, 
turned  his  back  on  the  house  and  led  the  horse  away — some- 
where out  into  the  darkness — Maurice  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  ascertain  where. 

He  was  under  shelter.  There  was  the  remnant  of  a  wood- 
fire  in  the  hearth  at  the  corner,  some  benches  along  the 
walls.  If  he  could  not  get  a  bed,  he  could  certainly  get  rest 
and  warmth  for  the  night.  He  put  down  his  hat,  took 
off  his  coat,  and  kicked  the  smouldering  log  into  a  blaze; 
then  he  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  fire  and  held  his  numbed 
feet  and  hands  to  the  pleasing  warmth. 

Thoughts  of  food  and  wine  presented  themselves  too,  now 
that  he  felt  a  little  less  cold  and  stiff,  and  he  awaited  the 
old  man's  return  with  eagerness  and  impatience. 

The  shuffling  of  wooden  sabots  outside  the  door  was  a 


THE  RIVALS  201 

pleasing  sound :  a  moment  or  two  later  the  old  man  had 
come  back  and  was  busying  himself  with  once  more  bolt- 
ing his  front  door. 

"Well  now,  pere  Briot,"  said  Maurice  cheerily,  "as  I 
take  it  you  are  the  proprietor  of  this  abode  of  bliss,  what 
about  supper?" 

''Bread  and  cheese  if  you  like,"  muttered  the  man  curtly. 

"And  a  bottle  of  wine,  of  course." 

"Yes.     A  bottle  of  wine." 

"Well !  be  quick  about  it,  petit  pere.  I  didn't  know  how 
hungry  I  was  till  you  talked  of  bread  and  cheese." 

"Would  you  like  some  cold  meat?"  queried  the  man  in- 
differently. 

"Of  course  I  should!  Have  I  not  said  that  I  was 
hungry?" 

"You'll  pay  for  it  all  right  enough?" 

"I'll  pay  for  the  supper  before  I  stick  a  fork  into  it," 
rejoined  Maurice  impatiently,  "but  in  Heaven's  name  hurry 
up,  man !  I  am  half  dead  with  sleep  as  well  as  with  hunger." 

The  old  man — a  real  peasant  of  the  Dauphine  in  his  de- 
liberate manner  and  shrewd  instincts  of  caution — once  more 
shuffled  out  of  the  room,  and  St.  Genis  lapsed  into  a  kind 
of  pleasant  torpor  as  the  warmth  of  the  fire  gradually  crept 
through  his  sinews  and  loosened  all  his  limbs,  while  the 
anticipation  of  wine  and  food  sent  his  wearied  thoughts 
into  a  happy  day-dream. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  installed  before  a  substantial 
supper,  and  worthy  Aristide  Briot  was  equally  satisfied  with 
the  two  pieces  of  silver  which  St.  Genis  had  readily  tendered 
him. 

"You  said  your  house  was  full,  petit  pere,"  said  Maurice 
after  a  while,  when  the  edge  of  his  hunger  had  somewhat 
worn  off.  "I  shouldn't  have  thought  there  were  many 
travellers  in  this  out-of-the-way  place." 

"The  place  is  not  out-of-the-way,"  retorted  the  old  man 


202  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

gruffly.  "The  road  is  a  good  one,  and  a  short  cut  between 
Vienne  and  Chambery.  We  get  plenty  of  travellers  this 
way!" 

"Well!  I  did  not  strike  the  road,  unfortunately.  I  saw 
your  lights  in  the  distance  and  cut  across  some  fields.  It 
was  pretty  rough  in  the  dark,  I  can  tell  you." 

"That's  just  what  those  other  cavaliers  said,  when  they 
turned  up  here  about  an  hour  ago.  A  noisy  crowd  they 
were.  I  had  no  room  for  them  in  my  house,  so  they  had 
to  go." 

St.  Genis  at  once  put  down  his  knife  and  fork. 

"A  noisy  crowd  of  travellers,"  he  exclaimed,  "who  ar- 
rived here  an  hour  ago  ?" 

"Parbleu!"  rejoined  the  other,  "and  all  wanting  beds 
too.  I  had  no  room.  I  can  only  put  up  one  or  two  travel- 
lers. I  sent  them  on  to  Levasseur's,  further  along  the  road. 
Only  the  wounded  man  I  could  not  turn  away.  He  is  up 
in  our  best  bedroom." 

"A  wounded  man?  You  have  a  wounded  man  here, 
petit  pere  ?" 

"Oh !  it's  not  much  of  a  wound,"  explained  the  old  man 
with  unconscious  irrelevance.  "He  himself  calls  it  a  mere 
scratch.  But  my  old  woman  took  a  fancy  to  him :  he  is 
young  and  well-looking,  you  understand.  .  .  .  She  is  clever 
at  bandages  too,  so  she  has  looked  after  him  as  if  he  were 
her  own  son." 

Mechanically,  St.  Genis  had  once  more  taken  up  his  knife 
and  fork,  though  of  a  truth  the  last  of  his  hunger  had 
vanished.  But  these  Dauphine  peasants  were  suspicious 
and  queer-tempered,  and  already  the  young  man's  surprise 
had  matured  into  a  plan  which  he  would  not  be  able  to 
carry  through  without  the  help  of  Aristide  Briot.  Noisy 
cavaliers — he  mused  to  himself — a  wounded  man!  .  .  . 
wounded  by  the  stray  shot  aimed  at  him  by  Crystal  de  Cam- 
bray!    Indeed,  St.  Genis  had  much  ado  to  keep  his  excite- 


THE  RIVALS  203 

ment  in  check,  and  to  continue  with  a  pretence  at  eating 
while  Briot  watched  him  with  stoHd  indifference. 

"Petit  pere,"  said  the  young  man  at  last  with  as  much 
unconcern  as  he  could  affect.  "I  have  been  thinking  that 
you  have — unwittingly — given  me  an  excellent  piece  of 
news.  I  do  believe  that  the  man  in  your  best  bedroom  up- 
stairs is  a  friend  of  mine  whom  I  was  to  have  met  at  Lyons 
to-day  and  whose  absence  from  our  place  of  tryst  had  made 
me  very  anxious.  I  was  imagining  that  all  sorts  of  horrors 
had  happened  to  him,  for  he  is  in  the  secret  service  of  the 
King  and  exposed  to  every  kind  of  danger.  His  being 
wounded  in  some  skirmish  either  with  highway  robbers 
or  with  a  band  of  the  Corsican's  pirates  would  not  sur- 
prise me  in  the  least,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  some  half- 
dozen  mounted  men  with  him  confirms  me  in  my  belief 
that  indeed  it  is  my  friend  who  Is  lying  upstairs,  as  he  often 
has  to  have  an  escort  in  the  exercise  of  his  duties.  At  any 
rate,  petit  pere,"  he  concluded  as  he  rose  from  the  table, 
"by  your  leave,  I'll  go  up  and  ascertain." 

\Miile  he  rattled  off  these  pretty  proceeds  of  his  own 
imagination,  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  kept  a  sharp  watch  on 
Aristide  Briot' s  face,  ready  to  note  the  slightest  sign  of 
suspicion  should  it  creep  into  the  old  man's  shrewd  eyes. 

Briot,  however,  did  not  exhibit  any  violent  interest  in  his 
guest's  story,  and  when  the  latter  had  finished  speaking 
he  merely  said,  pointing  to  the  remnants  of  food  upon  the 
table : 

"I  thought  you  said  that  you  were  hungry." 

"So  I  was,  petit  pere,"  rejoined  Maurice  impatiently,  "so 
I  was :  but  my  hunger  is  not  so  great  as  it  was,  and  before  I 
eat  another  morsel  I  must  satisfy  myself  that  it  is  my 
friend  who  is  safe  and  well  in  your  old  woman's  care." 

"Oh !  he  is  well  enough,"  grunted  Briot,  "and  you  can 
see  him  in  the  morning." 

"Tliat  I  cannot,  for  I  shall  have  to  leave  here  soon  after 


204  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

dawn.  And  I  could  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep  whilst  I  am 
in  such  a  state  of  uncertainty  about  my  friend." 

"But  you  can't  go  and  wake  him  now.  He  is  asleep  for 
sure,  and  my  old  woman  wouldn't  like  him  to  be  disturbed, 
after  all  the  care  she  has  given  him." 

St.  Genis,  fretting  with  impatience,  could  have  cursed 
aloud  or  shaken  the  obstinate  old  peasant  roughly  by  the 
shoulders. 

"I  shouldn't  wake  him,"  he  retorted,  irritated  beyond 
measure  at  the  man's  futile  opposition.  "I'll  go  up  on  tip- 
toe, candle  in  hand — ^you  shall  show  me  the  way  to  his  room 
— and  I'll  just  ascertain  whether  the  wounded  man  is  my 
friend  or  not,  then  I'll  come  down  ag^in  quietly  and  finish 
my  supper. 

"Come,  petit  pere,  I  insist,"  he  added  more  peremptorily, 
seeing  that  Briot — with  the  hesitancy  peculiar  to  his  kind — 
still  made  no  movement  to  obey,  but  stood  close  by  scratch- 
ing his  scanty  locks  and  looking  puzzled  and  anxious. 

Fortunately  for  him  Maurice  understood  the  temperament 
of  these  peasants  of  the  Dauphine,  he  knew  that  with  their 
curious  hesitancy  and  inherent  suspiciousness  it  was  always 
the  easiest  to  make  up  their  minds  for  them. 

So  now — since  he  was  absolutely  determined  to  come  to 
grips  with  that  abominable  thief  upstairs,  before  the  night 
was  many  minutes  older — he  ceased  to  parley  with  Briot. 

A  candle  stood  close  to  his  hand  on  the  table,  a  bit  of 
kindling  wood  lay  in  a  heap  in  one  corner,  with  the  help 
of  the  one  he  lighted  the  other,  then  candle  in  hand  he 
walked  up  to  the  door. 

"Show  me  the  way,  petit  pere,"  he  said. 

And  Aristide  Briot,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  which 
implied  that  he  there  and  then  put  away  from  him  any 
responsibility  for  what  might  or  might  not  occur  after 
this,  and  without  further  comment,  led  the  way  upstairs. 


THE  RIVALS  fQff 

n 

On  the  upper  landing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  Briot  paused. 
He  pointed  to  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  narrow  corridor, 
and  said  curtly: 

"That's  his  room." 

"I  thank  you,  petit  pere/'  whispered  St.  Genis  in  response. 
"Don't  wait  for  me,  I'll  be  back  directly." 

"He  is  not  yet  in  bed,"  was  Briot's  dry  comment. 

A  thin  streak  of  light  showed  underneath  the  door.  As 
St.  Genis  walked  rapidly  toward  it  he  wondered  if  the  door 
would  be  locked.  That  certainly  was  a  contingency  which 
had  not  occurred  to  him.  His  design  was  to  surprise  a 
wounded  and  helpless  thief  in  his  sleep  and  to  force  him 
then  and  there  to  give  up  the  stolen  money,  before  he 
had  time  to  call  for  help. 

But  the  miscreant  was  evidently  on  the  watch,  Briot  still 
lingered  on  the  top  of  the  stairs,  there  were  other  people 
sleeping  in  the  house,  and  St.  Genis  suddenly  realised  that 
his  purpose  would  not  be  quite  so  easy  of  execution  as  he 
had  hot-headedly  supposed. 

But  the  end  in  view  was  great,  and  St.  Genis  was  not 
a  man  easily  deterred  from  a  set  purpose.  There  was 
the  royalist  cause  to  aid  and  Crystal  to  be  won  if  he  were 
successful. 

He  knocked  resolutely  at  the  door,  then  tried  the  latch. 
The  door  was  locked:  but  even  as  the  young  man  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment  wondering  what  he  would  do  next,  a 
firm  step  resounded  on  the  floor  on  the  other  side  of  the 
partition  and  the  next  moment  the  door  was  opened  from 
within,  and  a  peremptory  voice  issued  the  usual  challenge : 

"Who  goes  there?" 

A  tall  figure  appeared  as  a  massive  silhouette  under  the 
lintel.  St.  Genis  had  the  candle  in  his  hand.  He  dropped 
it  in  his  astonishment. 


g06  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

*'Mr.  Clyffurde!"  he  exclaimed. 

At  sight  of  St.  Genis  the  Enghshman,  whose  right  arm 
was  in  a  sling,  had  made  a  quick  instinctive  movement  back 
into  the  room,  but  equally  quickly  Maurice  had  forestalled 
him  by  placing  his  foot  across  the  threshold. 

Then  he  turned  back  to  Aristide  Briot. 

"That's  all  right,  petit  pere,"  he  called  out  airily,  "it  is 
indeed  my  friend,  just  as  I  thought.  I'm  going  to  stay 
and  have  a  little  chat  with  him.  Don't  wait  up  for  m.e. 
When  he  is  tired  of  my  company  I'll  go  back  to  the  par- 
lour and  make  myself  happy  in  front  of  the  fire.  Good- 
night!" 

As  Clyffurde  no  longer  stood  in  the  doorway,  St,  Genis 
walked  straight  into  the  room  and  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him,  leaving  good  old  Aristide  to  draw  what  con- 
clusions he  chose  from  the  eccentric  behaviour  of  his  noc- 
turnal visitors. 

With  a  rapid  and  wrathful  gaze,  St.  Genis  at  once  took 
stock  of  everything  in  the  room.  A  sigh  of  satisfaction 
rose  to  his  lips.  At  any  rate  the  rogue  could  not  deny  his 
guilt.  There,  hanging  on  a  peg,  was  the  caped  coat  which 
he  had  worn,  and  there  on  the  table  were  two  damning 
proofs  of  his  villainy — a  pair  of  pistols  and  a  black  mask. 

The  whole  situation  puzzled  him  more  than  he  could  say. 
Certainly  after  the  first  shock  of  surprise  he  had  felt  his 
wrath  growing  hotter  and  hotter  every  moment,  the  other 
man's  cool  assurance  helped  further  to  irritate  his  nerves, 
and  to  make  him  lose  that  self-control  which  would  have 
been  of  priceless  value  in  this  unlooked-for  situation. 

Seeing  that  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  was  absolutely  speech- 
less with  surprise  as  well  as  with  anger,  there  crept  into 
Clyffurde's  deep-set  grey  eyes  a  strange  look  of  amuse- 
ment, as  if  the  humour  of  his  present  position  was  more 
obvious  than  its  shame. 

"And  what,"  he  asked  pleasantly,  "has  procured  me  the 


THE  RIVALS  «07 

honour  at  this  late  hour  of  a  visit  from  M.  le  Marquis 
de  St.  Genis?" 

His  words  broke  the  spell.  There  was  no  longer  any 
mystery  in  the  situation.  The  condemnatory  pieces  of  evi- 
dence were  there,  Clyffurde's  connection  with  de  Marmont 
was  well  known — the  plot  had  become  obvious.  Here  was 
an  English  adventurer — an  alien  spy — who  had  obviously 
been  paid  to  do  this  dirty  work  for  the  usurper,  and — as 
Maurice  now  concluded  airily — he  must  be  made  to  give  up 
the  money  which  he  had  stolen  before  he  be  handed  over 
to  the  military  authorities  at  Lyons  and  shot  as  a  spy  or 
a  thief — Maurice  didn't  care  which :  the  whole  thing  was 
turning  out  far  simpler  and  easier  than  he  had  dared  to 
hope. 

"You  know  quite  well  why  I  am  here,"  he  now  said, 
roughly.  "Of  a  truth,  for  the  moment  I  was  taken  by 
surprise,  for  I  had  not  thought  that  a  man  who  had  been 
honoured  by  the  friendship  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray 
and  of  his  family  was  a  thief,  as  well  as  a  spy," 

"And  now,"  said  Clyffurde,  still  smiling  and  apparently 
quite  unperturbed,  "that  you  have  been  enlightened  on  this 
subject  to  your  own  satisfaction,  may  I  ask  what  you  in- 
tend to  do?" 

"Force  you  to  give  up  what  you  have  stolen,  you  impu- 
dent thief,"  retorted  the  other  savagely. 

"And  how  are  you  proposing  to  do  that,  M.  de  St. 
Genis?"  asked  the  Englishman  with  perfect  equanimity. 

"Like  this,"  cried  Maurice,  whose  exasperation  and  fury 
had  increased  every  moment,  as  the  other  man's  assurance 
waxed  more  insolent  and  more  cool. 

"Like  this!"  he  cried  again,  as  he  sprang  at  his  en- 
emy's throat. 

A  past  master  in  the  art  of  self-defence,  Clyffurde — de- 
spite his  wounded  arm — was  ready  for  the  attack.  With 
his  left  on  guard  he  not  only  received  the  brunt  of  the 


208  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

onslaught,  but  parried  it  most  effectually  with  a  quick  blow 
against  his  assailant's  jaw. 

St.  Genis — stunned  by  this  forcible  contact  with  a  set 
of  exceedingly  hard  knuckles — fell  back  a  step  or  two,  his 
foot  struck  against  some  object  on  the  floor,  he  lost  his 
balance  and  measured  his  length  backwards  across  the  bed. 

"You  abominable  thief  ...  you  .  .  ."  he  cried,  choking 
with  rage  and  with  discomfiture  as  he  tried  to  struggle 
to  his  feet. 

But  this  he  at  once  found  that  he  could  not  do,  seeing 
that  a  pair  of  firm  and  muscular  knees  were  gripping  and 
imprisoning  his  legs,  even  while  that  same  all-powerful 
left  hand  with  the  hard  knuckles  had  an  unpleasant  hold 
on  his  throat. 

"I  should  have  tried  some  other  method,  M.  de  St. 
Genis,  had  I  been  in  your  shoes,"  came  in  irritatingly  sar- 
castic accents  from  his  calm  antagonist. 

Indeed,  the  insolent  rogue  did  not  appear  in  the  least 
overwhelmed  by  the  enormity  of  his  crime  or  by  the  dis- 
grace of  being  so  ignominiously  found  out.  From  his 
precarious  position  across  the  bed  St.  Genis  had  a  good 
view  of  the  rascal's  finely  knit  figure,  of  his  earnest  face, 
now  softened  by  a  smile  full  of  kindly  humour  and  good- 
natured  contempt. 

An  impartial  observer  viewing  the  situation  would  cer- 
tainly have  thought  that  here  was  an  impudent  villain  van- 
quished and  lying  on  his  back,  whilst  being  admonished  for 
his  crimes  by  a  just  man  who  had  might  as  well  as  right 
on  his  side. 

"Let  me  go,  you  confounded  thief,"  St.  Genis  cried,  as 
soon  as  the  unpleasant  grip  on  his  throat  had  momentarily 
relaxed,  "you  accursed  spy  .  .  .  you  .  .  ." 

"Easy,  easy,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  other  calmly; 
"you  have  called  me  a  thief  quite  often  enough  to  satisfy 
your  rage :  and  further  epithets  might  upset  my  temper." 


THE  RIVALS  209 

"Let  go  my  throat!" 

"I  will  in  a  moment  or  two,  as  soon  as  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  you,  my  impetu- 
ous young  friend — whether  I  shall  truss  you  like  a  fowl 
and  put  you  in  charge  of  our  worthy  host,  as  guilty  of 
assaulting  one  of  his  guests,  or  whether  I  shall  do  you 
some  trifling  injury  to  punish  you  for  trying  to  do  me  a 
grave  one." 

"Right  is  on  my  side,"  said  St.  Genis  doggedly.  "I 
do  not  care  what  you  do  to  me." 

"Right  is  apparently  on  your  side,  my  friend.  I'll  not 
deny  it.     Therefore,  I  still  hesitate." 

"Like  a  rogue  and  a  vagabond  at  dead  of  night  you 
attacked  and  robbed  those  who  have  never  shown  you 
anything  but  kindness." 

"Until  the  hour  when  they  turned  me  out  of  their  house 
like  a  dishonest  lacquey,  without  allowing  me  a  word  of 
explanation." 

"Then  this  is  your  idea  of  vengeance,  is  it,  Mr.  Clyf- 
furde?" 

"Yes,  M.  de  St.  Genis,  it  is.  But  not  quite  in  the  man- 
ner that  you  suppose.  I  am  going  to  set  you  free  now 
in  order  to  set  your  mind  at  rest.  But  let  me  warn  you 
that  I  shall  be  just  as  much  on  the  alert  against  another 
attack  from  you  as  ever  I  was  before,  and  that  I  could 
ward  off  two  or  even  three  assailants  with  my  left  arm  and 
knee  as  easily  as  I  warded  off  one.  It  is  a  way  we  have 
in  England." 

He  relaxed  his  hold  on  Maurice's  legs  and  throat,  and 
the  young  man — fretting  and  fuming,  wild  with  impotent 
wrath  and  with  mortification — struggled  to  his  feet.  ^ 

"Are  you  proposing  to  give  me  some  explanation  to 
mitigate  your  crime?"  he  said  roughly.  "If  so,  let  me  tell 
you  that  I  will  accept  none.  Putting  the  question  aside 
of  your  abominable  theft,  you  have  committed  an  outrage 


210  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

against  people  whom  I  honour,  and  against  the  woman 
whom  I  love." 

"Nor  do  I  propose  to  give  you  any  explanation,  M. 
de  St.  Genis,"  retorted  Clyffurde,  who  still  spoke  quite 
quietly  and  evenly.  "But  for  the  sake  of  your  own  peace 
of  mind,  which  you  will  I  hope  communicate  to  the  peo- 
ple whom  you  honour,  I  will  tell  you  a  few  simple 
facts." 

Neither  of  the  men  sat  down :  they  stood  facing  one  an- 
other now  across  the  table  whereon  stood  a  couple  of 
tallow  candies  which  threw  fitful,  yellow  lights  on  their 
faces — so  different,  so  strangely  contrasted — young  and 
well-looking  both — ^both  strongly  moved  by  passion,  yet  one 
entirely  self -controlled,  while  in  the  other's  eyes  that  pas- 
sion glowed  fierce  and  resentful. 

"I  listen,"  said  St.  Genis  curtly. 

And  Clyffurde  began  after  a  slight  pause:  "At  the  time 
that  you  fell  upon  me  with  such  ill-considered  vigour,  M. 
de  St.  Genis,"  he  said,  "did  you  know  that  but  for  my 
abominable  outrage  upon  the  persons  whom  you  honour, 
the  money  which  they  would  gladly  have  guarded  with  their 
life  would  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Bonaparte's 
agents  ?" 

"In  theirs  or  yours,  what  matters?"  ret6rted  St.  Genis 
savagely,  "since  His  Majesty  is  deprived  of  it  now." 

"That  is  where  you  are  mistaken,  my  young  friend," 
said  the  other  quietly.  "His  Majesty  is  more  sure  of  get- 
ting the  money  now  than  he  was  when  M.  le  Comte  de 
Cambray  with  his  family  and  yourself  started  on  that 
quixotic  if  ill-considered  errand  this  morning." 

St.  Genis  frowned  in  puzzlement : 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  curtly. 

"Isn't  it  simple  enough?  You  and  your  friends  credited 
me  with  friendship  for  de  Marmont:  he  is  hot-headed 
and  impetuous,  and  words  rush  out  of  his  mouth  that  he 


THE  RIVALS  211 

should  keep  to  himself.  I  knew  from  himself  that  Bona- 
parte had  charged  him  to  recover  the  twenty-five  millions 
which  M.  le  prefet  Fourier  had  placed  in  the  Comte  de 
Cambray's  charge." 

."Why  did  you  not  warn  the  Comte  then?"  queried  St. 
Genis,  who,  still  mistrustful,  glowered  at  his  antagonist. 

"Would  he  have  listened  to  me,  think  you?"  asked  the 
other  with  a  quiet  smile.  "Remember,  he  had  turned  me 
out  of  his  house  two  nights  before,  without  a  word  of 
courtesy  or  regret — on  the  mere  suspicion  of  my  inter- 
course with  de  Marmont.  Were  you  too  full  with  your 
own  rage  to  notice  what  happened  then?  Mile.  Crystal 
drew  away  her  skirts  from  me  as  if  I  were  a  leper.  What 
credence  would  they  have  given  my  words?  Would  the 
Comte  even  have  admitted  me  into  his  presence?" 

"And  so  .  .  .  you  planned  this  robbery  .  .  .  you  .  .  ." 
stammered  St.  Genis,  whose  astonishment  and  puzzlement 
were  rendering  him  as  speechless  as  his  rage  had  done. 
"I'll  not  believe  it,"  he  continued  more  firmly;  "you  are 
fooling  me,  now  that  I  have  found  you  out." 

"Why  should  I  do  that?  You  are  in  my  hands,  and 
not  I  in  yours.  Bonaparte  is  victorious  at  Grenoble.  I 
could  take  the  money  to  him  and  earn  his  gratitude,  or 
use  the  money  for  mine  own  ends.  What  have  I  to  fear 
from  you?  What  cause  to  fool  you?  Your  opinion  of 
me?  M.  le  Comte's  contempt  or  goodwill?  Bah!  after 
to-night  are  we  likely  to  meet  again?" 

St.  Genis  said  nothing  in  reply.  Of  a  truth  there  was 
nothing  that  he  could  say.  The  Englishman's  whole  at- 
titude bore  the  impress  of  truth.  Even  through  that  still 
seething  wrath  which  refused  to  be  appeased,  St.  Gems 
felt  that  the  other  was  speaking  the  truth.  His  mind  now 
was  in  turmoil  of  wonderment.  This  man  who  stood  here 
before  him  had  done  something  which  he — St.  Genis—" 
could  not  comprehend.     Vaguely  he  realised  that  beneath 


212  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

the  man's  actions  there  still  lay  a  yet  deeper  foundation  of 
dignity  and  of  heroism  and  one  which  perhaps  would  never 
be  wholly  fathomed. 

It  was  Clyffurde  who  at  last  broke  the  silence  between 
them: 

"You,  M.  de  St.  Genis,"  he  said  lightly,  "would  under 
like  circumstances  have  acted  just  as  I  did,  I  am  sure. 
The  whole  idea  was  so  easy  of  execution.  Half  a  dozen 
loafers  to  aid  me,  the  part  of  highwayman  to  play — an 
old  man  and  two  or  three  defenceless  women — my  part 
was  not  heroic,  I  admit,"  he  added  with  a  smile,  "but  it 
has  served  its  purpose.  The  money  is  safe  in  my  keeping 
now,  within  a  few  days  His  Majesty  the  King  of  France 
shall  have  it,  and  all  those  who  strive  to  serve  him  loyally 
can  rest  satisfied." 

"I  confess  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  St.  Genis,  as 
he  seemed  to  shake  himself  free  from  some  unexplainable 
spell  that  held  him.  "You  have  rendered  us  and  the  legit- 
imate cause  of  France  a  signal  service!  Why  did  you 
doit?" 

"You  forget,  M.  de  St.  Genis,  that  the  legitimate  cause 
of  France  is  England's  cause  as  well." 

"Are  you  a  servant  of  your  country  then?  I  thought 
you  were  a  tradesman  engaged  in  buying  gloves." 

Clyffurde  smiled.  "So  I  am,"  he  said,  "but  even  a 
tradesman  may  serve  his  country,  if  he  has  the  opportu- 
nity." 

"I  hope  that  your  country  will  be  duly  grateful,"  said 
Maurice,  with  a  sigh.  "I  know  that  every  royalist  in 
France  would  thank  you  if  they  knew." 

"By  your  leave,  M.  de  St.  Genis,  no  one  in  France  need 
know  anything  but  what  you  choose  to  tell  them.  .  .  .'^ 

"You  mean  .  .  ." 

"That  except  for  reassuring  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray 
and  .  .  .  and  Mile.  Crystal,  there  is  no  reason  why  they 


THE  RIVALS  213 

should  ever  know  what  passed  between  us  in  this  room 
to-night." 

"But  if  the  King  is  to  have  the  money,  he  .  .  ." 

"He  will  never  know  from  me,  from  whence  it  comes." 

"He  will  wish  to  know.  .  .  ." 

"Come,  M.  de  St.  Genis,"  broke  in  Qyffurde,  with  a 
slight  hint  of  impatience,  "is  it  for  me  to  tell  you  that 
Great  Britain  has  more  than  one  agent  in  France  these 
days — that  the  money  will  reach  His  Majesty  the  King 
ultimately  through  the  hands  of  his  foreign  minister  M, 
le  Comte  de  Jaucourt  .  .  .  and  that  my  name  will  never 
appear  in  connection  with  the  matter?  ...  I  am  a  mere 
servant  of  Great  Britain- — doing  my  duty  where  I  can  .  .  . 
nothing  more." 

"You  mean  that  you  are  in  the  British  Secret  Service? 
No? — Well!  I  don't  profess  to  understand  you  English 
people,  and  you  seem  to  me  more  incomprehensible  than 
any  I  have  known.  Not  that  I  ever  believed  that  you  were 
a  mere  tradesman.  But  what  shall  I  say  to  M.  le  Comte 
de  Cambray?"  he  added,  after  a  slight  pause,  during  which 
a  new  and  strange  train  of  thought  altered  the  expression 
of  wonderment  on  his  face,  to  one  that  was  undefinable, 
almost  furtive,  certainly  undecided. 

"All  you  need  say  to  M.  le  Comte,"  replied  Clyffurde, 
with  a  slight  tone  of  impatience,  "is  that  you  are  personally 
satisfied  that  the  money  will  reach  His  Majesty's  hand 
safely,  and  in  due  course.  At  least,  I  presume  that  you 
are  satisfied,  M.  de  St.  Genis,"  he  continued,  vaguely  won- 
dering what  was  going  on  in  the  young  Frenchman's  bram. 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course  I  am  satisfied,"  murmured  the  other, 
"but  .  .  ." 

"But  what?" 

"Mile.  Crystal  would  want  to  know  somethmg  more 
than  that.  She  will  ask  me  questions  .  .  .  she  ...  she 
will  insist  ...  I  had  promised  her  to  get  the  money  back 


214  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

myself  .  .  .  she  will  expect  an  explanation  .  .  .  she  .  .  ." 
He  continued  to  murmur  these  short,  jerky  sentences  al- 
most inaudibly,  avoiding  the  while  to  meet  the  enquiring 
and  puzzled  gaze  of  the  Englishman. 

When  he  paused — still  munnuring,  but  quite  inaudibly 
now — Clyffurde  made  no  comment,  and  once  more  there 
fell  a  silence  over  the  narrow  room.  The  candles  flickered 
feebly,  and  Bobby  picked  up  the  metal  snuffers  from  the 
table  and  with  a  steady  and  deliberate  hand  set  to  work 
to  trim  the  wicks. 

So  absorbed  did  he  seem  in  this  occupation  that  he  took 
no  notice  of  St.  Genis,  who  with  arms  crossed  in  front 
of  him,  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  narrow  room,  a 
heavy  frown  between  his  deep-set  eyes. 

ni 

Somewhere  in  the  house  down  below,  an  old-fashioned 
clock  had  just  struck  two.  Clyffurde  looked  up  from  his 
absorbing  task. 

"It  is  late,"  he  remarked  casually ;  "shall  we  say  good- 
night, M.  deSt.  Genis?" 

The  sound  of  the  Englishman's  voice  seemed  to  startle 
Maurice  out  of  his  reverie.  He  pulled  himself  together, 
walked  firmly  up  to  the  table  and  resting  his  hand  upon  it, 
he  faced  the  other  man  with  a  sudden  gaze  made  up  partly 
of  suddenly  conceived  resolve  and  partly  of  lingering  shame- 
facedness. 

"Mr.  Clyffurde,"  he  began  abruptly. 

"Yes?" 

"Have  you  any  cause  to  hate  me?" 

"Why  no,"  replied  Clyffurde  with  his  habitual  good-hu- 
moured smile.    "Why  should  I  have?" 

"Have  you  any  cause  to  hate  Mile.  Crystal  de  Cambray  ?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"You  have  no  desire,"  Insisted  Maurice,  "to  be  revenged 


THE  RIVALS  215 

on  her  for  the  slight  which  she  put  upon  you  the  other 
night?" 

His  voice  had  grown  more  steady  and  his  look  more  de- 
termined as  he  put  these  rapid  questions  to  Clyffurde,  whose 
expressive  face  showed  no  sign  of  any  feeling  in  response 
save  that  of  complete  and  indifferent  puzzlement. 

"I  have  no  desire  with  regard  to  Mile,  de  Cambray,"  re- 
plied Bobby  quietly,  "save  that  of  serving  her,  if  it  be  in  my 
power." 

"You  can  serve  her,  Sir,"  retorted  Maurice  firmly,  "and 
that  right  nobly.  You  can  render  the  whole  of  her  future 
life  happy  beyond  what  she  herself  has  ever  dared  to  hope." 

"How?" 

Maurice  paused :  once  more,  with  a  gesture  habitual  to 
him,  he  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest  and  resumed  his 
restless  march  up  and  down  the  narrow  room. 

Then  again  he  stood  still,  and  again  faced  the  English- 
man, his  dark  enquiring  eyes  seeming  to  probe  the  latter's 
deepest  thoughts. 

"Did  you  know,  Mr.  Clyffurde,"  he  asked  slowly,  "that 
Mile.  Crystal  de  Cambray  honours  me  with  her  love?" 

"Yes.    I  knew  that,"  replied  the  other  quietly. 

"And  I  love  her  with  my  heart  and  soul,"  continued 
Maurice  impetuously.  "Oh !  I  cannot  tell  you  what  we  have 
suffered — she  and  I — when  the  exigencies  of  her  position 
and  the  will  of  her  father  parted  us — seemingly  for  ever. 
Her  heart  was  broken  and  so  was  mine:  and  I  endured 
the  tortures  of  hell  when  I  realised  at  last  that  she  was  lost 
to  me  for  ever  and  that  her  exquisite  person — her  beautiful 
soul— were  destined  for  the  delight  of  that  low-born  traitor 
Victor  de  Marmont." 

He  drew  breath,  for  he  had  half  exhausted  himself  with 
the  volubility  and  vehemence  of  his  diction.  Also  he 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  encouragement  from  Clyf- 
furde, who,  however,  gave  him  none,  but  sat  unmoved  and 


216  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

apparently  supremely  indifferent,  while  a  suffering  heart 
was  pouring  out  its  wails  of  agony  into  his  unresponsive 
ear. 

"The  reason,"  resumed  St.  Genis  somewhat  more  calmly, 
"why  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  was  opposed  to  our  union, 
was  purely  a  financial  one.  Our  families  are  of  equal  dis- 
tinction and  antiquity,  but  alas!  our  fortunes  are  also  of 
equal  precariousness :  we.  Sir,  of  the  old  noblesse  gave  up 
our  all,  in  order  to  follow  our  King  into  exile.  Victor 
do  Marmont  was  rich.  His  fortune  could  have  repurchased 
the  ancient  Cambray  estates  and  restored  to  that  honoured 
name  all  the  brilliance  which  it  had  sacrificed  for  its  prin- 
ciples." 

Still  Clyffurde  remained  irritatingly  silent,  and  St.  Genis 
asked  him  somewhat  tartly : 

"I  trust  I  am  making  myself  clear.  Sir?" 

"Perfectly,  so  far,"  replied  the  other  quietly,  "but  I  am 
afraid  I  don't  quite  see  how  you  propose  that  I  could  serve 
Mile.  Crystal  in  all  this." 

"You  can  with  one  word,  one  generous  action,  Sir,  put 
me  in  a  position  to  claim  Crystal  as  my  wife,  and  give  her 
that  happiness  which  she  craves  for,  and  which  is  rightly 
her  due." 

A  slight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows  was  Clyffurde's  only 
comment. 

"Mr.  Clyffurde,"  now  said  Maurice,  with  the  obvious 
firm  resolve  to  end  his  own  hesitancy  at  last,  "you  say  your- 
self that  by  taking  this  money  to  His  Majesty,  or  rather  to 
his  minister,  you,  individually,  will  get  neither  glory  nor 
even  gratitude — your  name  will  not  appear  in  the  trans- 
action at  all.  I  am  quoting  your  own  words,  remember. 
That  is  so,  is  it  not?" 

"It  is  so — certainly." 

"But,  Sir,  if  a  Frenchman — a  royalist — were  able  to 
render  his  King  so  signal  a  service,  he  would  not  only  gain 


THE  RIVALS  217 

gratitude,  but  recognition  and  glory.  ...  A  man  who  was 
poor  and  obscure  would  at  once  become  rich  and  distin- 
guished. .  .  ." 

"And  in  a  position  to  marry  the  woman  he  loved,"  con- 
cluded Bobby,  smiling. 

Then  as  Maurice  said  nothing,  but  continued  to  regard 
him  with  glowing,  anxious  eyes,  he  added,  smiling  not 
altogether  kindly  this  time, 

"I  think  I  understand,  M.  de  St.  Genis." 

"And  .  .  .  what  do  you  say?"  queried  the  other  ex- 
citedly. 

"Let  me  make  the  situation  clear  first,  as  I  understand  it, 
Monsieur,"  continued  Bobby  drily.  "You  are — and  I  mis- 
take not — suggesting  at  the  present  moment  that  I  should 
hand  over  the  twenty-five  millions  to  you,  in  order  that  you 
should  take  them  yourself  to  the  King  in  Paris,  and  by  this 
act  obtain  not  only  favours  from  him,  but  probably  a  goodly 
share  of  the  money,  which  you — presumably — will  have 
forced  some  unknown  highwayman  to  give  up  to  you.  Is 
that  it?" 

"It  was  not  money  for  myself  I  thought  of.  Sir,"  mur- 
mured St.  Genis  somewhat  shamefacedly. 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  rejoined  Clyffurde  with  a  tone 
of  sarcasm  quite  foreign  to  his  usual  easy-going  good- 
nature. "You  were  thinking  of  the  King's  favours,  and 
of  a  future  of  distinction  and  glory." 

"I  was  thinking  chiefly  of  Crystal,  Sir,"  said  the  other 
haughtily. 

"Quite  so.  You  were  thinking  of  winning  Mile.  Crystal 
by  a  .  .  .a  subterfuge." 

"An  Innocent  one,  Sir,  you  will  admit.  I  should  not  be 
robbing  you  in  any  way.  And  remember  that  it  is  only 
Crystal's  hand  that  is  denied  me :  her  love  I  have  already 
won." 

A  look  of  pain— quickly  suppressed  and  easily  hidden 


218  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

from  the  other's  self-absorbed  gaze — crossed  the  English- 
man's earnest  face. 

"I  do  remember  that,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "else  I  cer- 
tainly would  never  lend  a  hand  in  the  .  .  .  subterfuge." 

"You  will  do  it  then  ?"  queried  the  other  eagerly. 

"I  have  not  said  so." 

"Ah!  but  you  will,"  ple?Lded  Maurice  hotly.  "Sir!  the 
eternal  gratitude  of  two  faithful  hearts  would  be  yours 
always — for  Crystal  will  know  it  all,  once  we  are  married, 
I  promise  you  that  she  will.  And  in  the  midst  of  her  happi- 
ness she  will  find  time  to  bless  your  generosity  and  your 
selflessness  .  .  .  whilst  I  .  .  ." 

"Enough,  I  beg  of  you,  M.  de  St.  Genis,"  broke  in 
Clyffurde  now,  with  angry  impatience.  "Believe  me!  I 
do  not  hug  myself  with  any  thought  of  my  own  virtues, 
nor  do  I  desire  any  gratitude  from  you:  if  I  hand  over 
the  money  to  you,  it  is  sorely  against  my  better  judgment 
and  distinctly  against  my  duty :  but  since  that  duty  chiefly 
lies  in  being  assured  that  the  King  of  France  will  receive 
the  money  safely,  why  then  by  handing  it  over  to  you  I 
have  that  assurance,  and  my  conscience  will  rest  at  com- 
parative ease.  You  shall  have  the  money,  Sir,  and  you 
shall  marry  Mile.  Crystal  on  the  strength  of  the  King's 
gratitude  towards  you.  And  Mile.  Crystal  will  be  happy — ■ 
if  you  keep  silence  over  this  transaction.  But  for  God's 
sake  let's  say  no  more  about  it :  for  of  a  truth  you  and 
I  are  playing  but  a  sorry  role  this  night." 

"A  sorry  role?"  protested  the  other. 

"Yes,  a  sorry  role.  Are  you  not  deceiving  a  woman? 
Am  I  not  running  counter  to  my  duty?" 

"I  but  deceive  Crystal  temporarily.  I  love  her  and  only 
deceive  in  order  to  win  her.  The  end  justifies  the  means. 
Nor  do  you,  in  my  opinion,  run  counter  to  your  duty.  .  .  ." 

But  Clyflfurde  interrupted  him  roughly :  "I  pray  you, 
Sir,  make  no  comment  on  mine  actions.     My  own  silent 


THE  RIVALS  219 

comments  on  these  are  hard  enough  to  bear :  your  eulogies 
would  raise  bounds  to  my  patience." 

Whereupon  he  walked  quickly  up  to  the  bed  and  from 
under  the  mattress  extricated  five  leather  wallets  which  he 
threw  one  by  one  upon  the  table. 

"Here  is  the  King's  money,"  he  said  curtly;  "you  could 
never  have  taken  it  from  me  by  force,  but  I  give  it  over 
to  you  willingly  now.  If  within  a  week  from  now  I  hear 
that  the  King  has  not  received  it,  I  will  proclaim  you  a 
liar  and  a  thief." 

"Sir  .  .  .  you  dare  .  .  ." 

"Nay!  we'll  not  quarrel.  I  don't  want  to  do  you  any 
hurt.  You  know  from  experience  that  I  could  kill  you  or 
wring  your  neck  as  easily  as  you  could  kill  a  child ;  but  Mile. 
Crystal's  love  is  like  a  protecting  shield  all  round  you,  so 
I'll  not  touch  you  again.  But  don't  ask  me  to  measure  my 
words,  for  that  is  beyond  my  power.  Take  the  money, 
M.  de  St.  Genis,  and  earn  not  only  the  King's  gratitude 
but  also  Mile.  Crystal's,  which  is  far  better  worth  having. 
And  now,  I  pray  you,  leave  me  to  rest.  You  must  be  tired 
too.  And  our  mutual  company  hath  become  irksome  to  us 
both." 

He  turned  his  back  on  St.  Genis  and  sat  down  at  the 
table,  drawing  paper,  pen  and  inkhorn  toward  him,  and 
with  clumsy,  left  hand  began  laboriously  to  form  written 
characters,  as  if  St.  Genis'  presence  or  departure  no  longer 
concerned  him. 

An  importunate  beggar  could  not  have  been  more  humili- 
atingly  dismissed.  St.  Genis  had  flushed  to  the  very  roots 
of  his  hair.  He  would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to  chas- 
tise the  insolent  Englishman  then  and  there.  But  the  latter 
had  not  boasted  when  he  said  that  he  could  wring  Maurice's 
neck  as  easily  with  his  left  hand  as  with  his  right,  and 
Maurice  within  his  heart  was  bound  to  own  that  the  boast 
•;was  no  idle  one.    He  knew  that  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  he 


220  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

was  no  match  for  that  heavy- framed,  hard-fisted  product 
of  a  fog-ridden  land. 

He  would  not  trust  himself  to  speak  any  more,  lest  an- 
other word  cause  prudence  to  yield  to  exasperation.  An- 
other moment  of  hesitation,  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders — 
perhaps  a  muttered  curse  or  two — and  St.  Genis  picked 
up  one  by  one  the  wallets  from  the  table. 

Clyffurde  never  looked  up  while  he  did  so :  he  continued 
to  form  awkward,  illegible  characters  upon  the  paper  be- 
fore him,  as  if  his  very  life  depended  on  being  able  to 
write  with  his  left  hand. 

The  next  moment  St.  Genis  had  walked  rapidly  out  of  the 
room.  Bobby  left  off  writing,  threw  down  his  pen,  and 
resting  his  elbow  upon  the  table  and  his  head  in  his  hand, 
he  remained  silent  and  motionless  while  St.  Genis'  quick  and 
firm  footsteps  echoed  first  along  the  corridor,  then  down 
the  creaking  stairs  and  finally  on  the  floor  below.  After 
which  there  came  the  sound  of  the  opening  and  shutting 
of  a  door,  the  dragging  of  a  chair  across  a  wooden  floor, 
and  nothing  more. 

All  was  still  in  the  house  at  last.  The  old-fashioned  clock 
downstairs  struck  half -past  two. 

With  a  smothered  cry  of  angry  contempt  Clyffurde  seized 
On  the  papers  that  lay  scattered  on  the  table  and  crushed 
them  up  in  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  passionate  wrath. 

Then  he  strode  up  to  the  window,  threw  open  the  rickety 
casement  and  let  the  pure  cold  air  of  night  pour  into  the 
room  and  dissipate  the  atmosphere  of  cowardice,  of  false- 
hood and  of  unworthy  love  that  still  seemed  to  hang  there 
where  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis  had  basely  bargained 
for  his  own  ends,  and  outraged  the  very  name  of  Love  by 
planning  base  deeds  in  its  name. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  CRIME 


Victor  de  Marmont  had  spent  that  same  night  in  weari- 
some agitation.  His  mortification  and  disappointment 
would  not  allow  him  to  rest. 

He  had  brought  his  squad  of  cavalry  up  as  far  as  St. 
Priest,  which  lies  a  little  off  the  main  road,  about  half-way 
between  Lyons  and  the  scene  of  de  Marmont's  late  dis- 
comfiture. Here  he  and  his  men  had  spent  the  night,  only  to 
make  a  fresh  start  early  the  next  morning — back  for  Gre- 
noble— seeing  that  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  with  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  troops  was  even  now  at  Lyons. 

When,  an  hour  after  leaving  St.  Priest,  the  little  troop 
came  upon  a  solitary  horseman,  riding  a  heavy  carriage 
horse  with  a  postillion's  bridle,  de  Marmont  at  first  had  no 
other  thought  save  that  of  malicious  pleasure  at  recognising 
the  man,  whom  just  now  he  hated  more  cordially  than  any 
other  man  in  the  world. 

M.  de  St.  Genis — for  indeed  it  was  he — was  peremptorily 
challenged  and  questioned,  and  his  wrath  and  impotent  at- 
tempts at  arrogance  greatly  delighted  de  Marmont. 

To  make  oneself  actively  unpleasant  to  a  rival  is  apt 
to  be  a  very  pleasurable  sensation.  Victor  had  an  exceed- 
ingly disagreeable  half-hour  to  avenge  and  to  declare  St. 
Genis  a  prisoner  of  war^  to  order  his  removal  to  Grenoble 
pending  the  Emperor's  pleasure,  to  command  him  to  be 

221 


222  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

silent  when  he  desired  to  speak  was  so  much  soothing 
balsam  spread  upon  the  wounds  which  his  own  pride  had 
suffered  at  Brestalou  last  Sunday  eve. 

It  was  not  until  a  casual  remark  from  the  sergeant  under 
his  command  caused  him  to  notice  the  bulging  pockets  of 
St.  Genis'  coat,  that  Victor  thought  to  give  the  order  to 
search  the  prisoner. 

The  latter  entered  a  vigorous  protest :  he  fought  and  he 
threatened:  he  promised  de  Marmont  the  hangman's  rope 
and  his  men  terrible  reprisals,  but  of  course  he  was  fighting 
a  losing  battle.  He  was  alone  against  five  and  twenty,  his 
first  attempt  at  getting  hold  of  the  pistols  in  his  belt  was 
met  with  a  threat  of  summary  execution:  he  was  dragged 
out  of  the  saddle,  his  arms  were  forced  behind  his  back, 
while  rough  hands  turned  out  the  precious  contents  of  his 
coat-pockets !  All  that  he  could  do  was  to  curse  fate  which 
had  brought  these  pirates  on  his  way,  and  his  own  short- 
sightedness and  impatience  in  not  waiting  for  the  armed 
patrol  which  undoubtedly  would  have  been  sent  out  to  him 
from  Lyons  in  response  to  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray's 
request. 

Now  he  had  the  deadly  chagrin  and  bitter  disappointment 
of  seeing  the  money  which  he  had  wrested  from  Clyffurde 
last  night  at  the  price  of  so  much  humiliation,  transferred 
to  the  pockets  of  a  real  thief  and  spoliator  who  would  either 
keep  it  for  himself  or — what  in  the  enthusiastic  royalist's 
eyes  would  be  even  worse — place  it  at  the  service  of  the 
Corsican  usurper.  He  could  hardly  believe  in  the  reality 
of  his  ill  luck,  so  appalling  was  it.  In  one  moment  he  saw 
all  the  hopes  of  which  he  had  dreamed  last  night  fly  beyond 
recall.  He  had  lost  Crystal  more  effectually,  more  com- 
pletely than  he  ever  had  done  before.  If  the  Englishman 
ever  spoke  of  what  had  occurred  last  night  ...  if  Crystal 
ever  knew  that  he  had  been  fool  enough  to  lose  the  treasure 
which  had  been  in  his  possession  for  a  few  hours — her  con- 


THE  CRIME  <e2S 

tempt  would  crush  the  love  which  she  had  for  him:  nor 
would  the  Comte  de  Cambray  ever  relent. 

De  Marmont's  triumph  too  was  hard  to  bear :  his  clumsy 
irony  was  terribly  galling. 

"Would  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis  care  to  continue  his 
journey  to  Lyons  now?  would  he  prefer  not  to  go  to 
Grenoble?" 

St.  Genis  bit  his  tongue  with  the  determination  to  remain 
silent. 

"M.  de  St.  Genis  is  free  to  go  whither  he  chooses." 

The  permission  was  not  even  welcome.  Maurice  would 
as  lief  be  taken  prisoner  and  dragged  back  to  Grenoble 
as  face  Crystal  with  the  story  of  his  failure. 

Quite  mechanically  he  remounted,  and  pulled  his  horse  to 
one  side  while  de  Marmont  ordered  his  little  squad  to  form 
once  more,  and  after  the  brief  word  of  command  and  a  final 
sarcastic  farewell,  galloped  off  up  the  road  back  toward 
Lyons  at  the  head  of  his  men,  not  waiting  to  see  if  St,  Genis 
came  his  way  too  or  not. 

The  latter  with  wearied,  aching  eyes  gazed  after  the  fast 
disappearing  troop,  until  they  became  a  mere  speck  on  the 
long,  straight  road,  and  the  distant  morning  mist  finally 
swallowed  them  up. 

Then  he  too  turned  his  horse's  head  in  the  same  direction 
back  toward  Lyons  once  more,  and  allowing  the  reins  to 
hang  loosely  in  his  hand,  and  letting  his  horse  pick  its  own 
slow  way  along  the  road,  he  gave  himself  over  to  the 
gloominess  of  his  own  thoughts. 

II 

He  too  had  some  difficulty  in  entering  the  town.  M.  le 
Due  d'Orleans,  cousin  of  the  King,  had  just  arrived  to  sup- 
port M.  le  Comte  d'Artois,  and  together  these  two  royal 
princes  had  framed  and  posted  up  a  proclamation  to  the 
brave  Lyonese  of  the  National  Guard. 


224  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

The  whole  city  was  in  a  turmoil,  for  M.  le  Due  d'Orleans 
— who  was  nothing  if  not  practical — had  at  once  declared 
that  there  was  not  the  slightest  chance  of  a  successful  de- 
fence of  Lyons,  and  that  by  far  the  best  thing  to  do  would 
be  to  withdraw  the  troops  while  they  were  still  loyal. 

M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  protested ;  at  any  rate  he  wouldn't 
do  anything  so  drastic  till  after  the  arrival  of  Marshal 
Macdonald,  to  whom  he  had  sent  an  urgent  courier  the  day 
before,  enjoining  him  to  come  to  Lyons  without  delay.  In 
the  meanwhile  he  and  his  royal  cousin  did  all  they  could  to 
kindle  or  at  any  rate  to  keep  up  the  loyalty  of  the  troops, 
but  defection  was  already  in  the  air :  here  and  there  the  men 
had  been  seen  to  throw  their  white  cockades  into  the  mud, 
and  more  than  one  cry  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  had  risen 
even  while  Monsieur  himself  was  reviewing  the  National 
Guard  on  the  Place  Bellecour. 

The  bridge  of  La  Guillotiere  was  stoutly  barricaded,  but 
as  St.  Genis  waited  out  in  the  open  road  while  his  name 
was  being  taken  to  the  officer  in  command  he  saw  crowds 
of  people  standing  or  walking  up  and  down  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river. 

They  were  waiting  for  the  Emperor,  the  news  of  whose 
approach  was  filling  the  townspeople  with  glee. 

Heartsick  and  wretched,  St.  Genis,  after  several  hours 
of  weary  waiting,  did  ultimately  obtain  permission  to  enter 
the  city  by  the  ferry  on  the  south  side  of  the  city.  Once 
inside  Lyons,  he  had  no  difficulty  in  ascertaining  where  such 
a  distinguished  gentleman  as  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  had 
put  up  for  the  night,  and  he  promptly  made  his  way  to  the 
Hotel  Bourbon,  his  mind,  at  this  stage,  still  a  complete  blank 
as  to  how  he  would  explain  his  discomfiture  to  the  Comte 
and  to  Crystal. 

In  the  present  state  of  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois'  difficulties 
the  money  would  have  been  thrice  welcome,  and  St.  Genis 
felt  the  load  of  failure  weighing  thrice  as  heavily  on  his 


¥ 


THE  CRIME  226 

soul,  and  dreaded  the  reproaches — mute  or  outspoken — 
which  he  knew  awaited  him.  If  only  he  could  have  thought 
of  something!  something  plausible  and  not  too  inglorious! 
There  was,  of  course,  the  possibility  that  he  had  failed  to 
come  upon  the  track  of  the  thieves  at  all — but  then  he  had 
no  business  to  come  back  so  soon — and  he  didn't  want  to 
come  back,  only  that  there  was  always  the  likelihood  of  the 
Englishman  speaking  of  what  had  occurred — not  neces- 
sarily with  evil  intent  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  some  words  of  his: 
"If  within  a  week  I  hear  that  the  King  of  France  has  not 
received  this  money,  I  will  proclaim  you  a  liar  and  a  thief !" 
rang  unpleasantly  in  St.  Genis'  ears. 

The  young  man's  mind,  I  repeat,  was  at  this  point  still 
a  blank  as  to  what  explanation  he  would  give  to  the  Comte 
de  Cambray  of  his  own  miserable  failure. 

He  was  returning — after  an  ardent  promise  to  overtake 
the  thief  and  to  force  him  to  give  up  the  money — without 
apparently  having  made  any  effort  in  that  direction — or 
having  made  the  effort,  failing  signally  and  ignominiously 
— a  foolish  and  unheroic  position  in  either  case. 

To  tell  the  whole  unvarnished  truth,  his  interview  with 
Clyffurde  and  his  thoughtlessness  in  wandering  along  the 
road  all  alone,  laden  with  twenty-five  million  francs,  not 
waiting  for  the  arrival  of  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois'  patrol,  was 
unthinkable. 

Then  what  ?  St.  Genis,  determined  not  to  tell  the  truth, 
found  it  a  difficult  task  to  concoct  a  story  that  would  be 
plausible  and  at  the  same  time  redound  to  his  credit.  His 
disappointment  was  so  bitter  now,  his  hopes  of  winning 
Crystal  and  glory  had  been  so  bright,  that  he  found  it  quite 
impossible  to  go  back  to  the  hard  facts  of  life— to  his  own 
poverty  and  the  unattainableness  of  Crystal  de  Cambray 
without  making  a  great  effort  to  win  back  what  Victor  de 
Marmont  had  just  wrested  from  him. 
.     Through  the  whirl  of  his  thoughts,  too,  there  was  a 


226  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

vague  sense  of  resentment  against  Clyffurde — coupled  with 
an  equally  vague  sense  of  fear.  He,  Maurice,  might  easily 
keep  silent  over  the  transaction  of  last  night,  but  Clyffurde 
might  not  feel  inclined  to  do  so.  He  would  want  to  know 
sooner  or  later  what  had  become  of  the  money  .  .  .  had 
he  not  uttered  a  threat  which  made  Maurice's  cheeks  even 
now  flush  with  wrath  and  shame? 

Certain  words  and  gestures  of  the  Englishman  had  stood 
out  before  Maurice's  mind  in  a  way  that  had  stirred  up  those 
latent  jealousies  which  always  lurk  in  the  heart  of  an  un- 
successful wooer.  Clyffurde  had  been  generous — ^blind  to 
his  own  interests — ready  to  sacrifice  what  recognition  he  had 
earned:  he  had  spared  his  assailant  and  agreed  to  an  un- 
worthy subterfuge,  and  St.  Genis'  tormented  brain  began 
to  wonder  why  he  had  done  all  this. 

Was  it  for  love  of  Crystal  de  Cambray? 

St.  Genis  would  not  allow  himself  to  answer  that  question, 
for  he  felt  that  if  he  did  he  would  hate  that  hard-fisted 
Englishman  more  thoroughly  than  he  had  ever  hated  any 
man  before — ^not  excepting  de  Marmont.  De  Marmont  was 
an  evil  and  vile  traitor  who  never  could  cross  Crystal's  path 
of  life  again.  .  .  .  But  not  so  the  Englishman,  who  had 
planned  to  serve  her  and  who  would  have  succeeded  so  mag- 
nificently but  for  his — Maurice's — interference! 

If  this  explanation  of  Clyffurde's  strangely  magnanimous 
conduct  was  the  true  one,  then  indeed  St.  Genis  felt  that 
he  would  have  everything  to  fear  from  him.  For  indeed 
was  it  so  very  unlikely  that  the  Englishman  was  throughout 
acting  in  collusion  with  Victor  de  Marmont,  who  was 
known  to  be  his  friend? 

Was  it  so  very  unlikely  that — seeing  himself  unmasked — 
he  had  found  a  sure  and  rapid  way  of  allowing  the  money 
to  pass  through  St.  Genis'  hands  into  those  of  de  Marmont, 
and  at  the  same  time  hopelessly  humiliating  and  discrediting 
his  rival  in  the  affections  of  Mile,  de  Cambray? 


THE  CRIME  227 

That  the  suggestion  of  handing  the  money  over  to  him 
had  come  originally  from  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  himself,  the 
young  man  did  not  trouble  himself  to  remember.  The  more 
he  thought  this  new  explanation  of  past  events  over,  the 
more  plausible  did  it  seem  and  the  more  likely  of  acceptance 
by  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  and  by  Crystal,  and  St.  Genis 
at  last  saw  his  way  to  appearing  before  them  not  only  zeal- 
ous but  heroic — even  if  unfortunate — and  it  was  with  a 
much  lightened  heart  that  he  finally  drew  rein  outside  the 
Hotel  Bourbon. 

Ill 

M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,  it  seems,  was  staying  at  the 
Hotel  for  a  few  days,  so  the  proprietor  informed  M.  de  St. 
Genis.  M,  le  Comte  had  gone  out,  but  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
d'Agen  was  upstairs  with  Mile,  de  Cambray. 

With  somewhat  uncertain  step  St.  Genis  followed  the 
obsequious  proprietor,  who  had  insisted  on  conducting  M. 
le  Marquis  to  the  ladies'  apartments  himself.  They  oc- 
cupied a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  and  after  a  timid 
knock  at  the  door,  it  was  opened  by  Jeanne  from  within,  and 
Maurice  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  Crystal  and  of 
the  Duchesse  and  obliged  at  once  to  enter  upon  the  explana- 
tion which,  with  their  first  cry  of  surprise,  they  already 
asked  of  him. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Crystal  eagerly,  "what  news?" 

"Of  the  money?"  murmured  Maurice  vaguely,  who  above 
all  things  was  anxious  to  gain  time. 

"Yes !  the  King's  money !"  rejoined  the  girl  with  slight 
impatience.  "Have  you  tracked  the  thieves?  Do  you  know 
where  they  are?    Is  there  any  hope  of  catching  them?" 

"None,  I  am  afraid,"  he  replied  firmly. 

Crystal  gave  a  cry  of  bitter  disappointment  and  reproach. 
"Then,  Maurice,"  she  exclaimed  almost  involuntarily,  "why 
are  you  here?" 


228  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

And  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  folding  her  mittened  hands  be- 
fore her,  seemed  mutely  to  be  asking  the  same  question. 

"But  did  you  come  upon  the  thieves  at  all?"  continued 
Crystal  with  eager  volubility.  "Where  did  they  go  to  for 
the  night?  You  must  have  come  on  some  traces  of  their 
passage.  Oh!"  she  added  vehemently,  "you  ought  not  to 
have  deserted  your  post  like  this!" 

"What  could  I  do,"  he  murmured.  "I  was  all  alone  .  .  . 
against  so  many.  .  .  ." 

"You  said  that  you  would  get  on  the  track  of  the  thieves," 
she  urged,  "and  father  told  you  that  he  would  speak  with 
M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  as  soon  as  possible.  Monsieur  has 
promised  that  an  armed  patrol  would  be  sent  out  to  you,  and 
would  be  on  the  lookout  for  you  on  the  road." 

"An  armed  patrol  would  be  no  use.  I  came  back  on  pur- 
pose to  stop  one  being  sent." 

"But  why,  in  Heaven's  name?"  exclaimed  the  Duchesse. 

"Because  a  troop  of  deserters  with  that  traitor  Victor  de 
Marmont  is  scouring  the  road,  and  ..." 

"We  know  that,"  said  Crystal,  "we  were  stopped  by  them 
last  night,  after  you  left  us.  They  were  after  the  money 
for  the  usurper,  who  had  sent  them,  and  I  thanked  God  that 
twenty-five  millions  had  enriched  a  common  thief  rather 
than  the  Corsican  brigand." 

"Surely,  Maurice,"  said  the  Duchesse  with  her  usual  tart- 
ness, "you  were  not  fool  enough  to  allow  the  King's 
money  to  fall  into  that  abominable  de  Marmont's  hands?" 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  now  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
as  if  driven  to  the  extremity  of  despair.  "The  whole  thing 
was  a  huge  plot  beyond  one  man's  power  to  cope  with.  I 
tracked  the  thieves,"  he  continued  with  vehemence  as  eager 
as  Crystal's,  "I  tracked  them  to  a  lonely  hostelry  off  the 
beaten  track — at  dead  of  night — a  den  of  cutthroats  and 
conspirators.  I  tracked  the  thief  to  his  lair  and  forced  him 
to  give  the  money  up  to  me." 


THE  CRIME  229 

"You  forced  him?  ...  Oh!  how  splendid!"  cried  Crys- 
tal.    "But  then  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  then!  there  was  the  hideousness  of  the  plot.  The 
thief,  feeling  himself  unmasked,  gave  up  his  stolen  booty;  I 
forced  him  to  his  knees,  and  five  wallets  containing  twenty- 
five  million  francs  were  safely  in  my  pockets  at  last." 

"You  forced  him — how  splendid!"  reiterated  Crystal, 
whose  glowing  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Maurice  with  all  the 
admiration  which  she  felt. 

"Yes !  that  money  was  in  my  pocket  for  the  rest  of  the 
happy  night,  but  the  abominable  thief  knew  well  that  his 
friend  Victor  de  Marmont  was  on  the  road  with  five  and 
twenty  armed  deserters  in  the  pay  of  the  Corsican  brigand. 
Hardly  had  I  left  the  hostelry  and  found  my  way  back 
to  the  main  road  when  I  was  surrounded,  assailed,  searched 
and  robbed.  I  repeat !"  continued  St.  Genis,  warming  to  his 
own  narrative,  "what  could  I  do  alone  against  so  many? — 
the  thief  and  his  hirelings  I  managed  successfully,  but  with 
the  money  once  in  my  possession  I  could  not  risk  staying 
an  hour  longer  than  I  could  help  in  that  den  of  cutthroats. 
But  they  were  in  league  with  de  Marmont,  and,  though  I 
would  have  guarded  the  King's  money  with  my  life,  it  was 
filched  from  me  ere  I  could  draw  a  single  weapon  in  its 
defence." 

He  had  sunk  in  a  chair,  half  exhausted  with  the  effort 
of  his  own  eloquence,  and  now,  with  elbows  resting  on  his 
knees  and  head  buried  in  his  hands,  he  looked  the  picture 
of  heroic  misery. 

Crystal  said  nothing  for  a  while ;  there  was  a  deep  frown 
of  puzzlement  between  her  eyes. 

"Maurice,"  she  said  resolutely  at  last,  "you  said  just  now 
that  the  thief  was  in  collusion  with  his  friend  de  Marmont. 
What  did  you  mean  by  that  ?"  ^^ 

"I  would  rather  that  you  guessed  what  I  meant,  Crystal, 
replied  Maurice  without  looking  up  at  her. 


230  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 


"You  mean  .  .  .  that  .  .  ."  she  began  slowly. 

"That  it  was  Mr.  Clyffurde,  our  English  friend,"  broke 
in  Madame  tartly,  "who  robbed  us  on  the  broad  highway. 
I  suspected  it  all  along." 

"You  suspected  it,  ma  tfliite,  and  said  nothing?"  asked 
the  girl,  who  obviously  had  not  taken  in  the  full  significance 
of  Maurice's  statement. 

"I  said  absolutely  nothing,"  replied  Madame  decisively, 
"firstly,  because  I  did  not  think  that  I  would  be  doing 
any  good  by  putting  my  own  surmises  into  my  brother's 
head,  and,  secondly,  because  I  must  confess  that  I 
thought  that  nice  young  Englishman  had  acted  pour  le  bon 
motif." 

"How  could  you  think  that,  nm  tantef"  ejaculated  Cr>'s- 
tal  hotly:  "a  good  motive?  to  rob  us  at  dead  of  night — he, 
a  friend  of  Victor  de  Marmont — ^an  adherent  of  the  Cor- 
sican!  ..." 

"Englishmen  are  not  adherents  of  the  Corsican,  my  dear," 
retorted  Madame  drily,  "and  until  Maurice's  appearance  this 
morning,  I  was  satisfied  that  the  money  would  ultimately 
reach  His  Majesty's  own  hands." 

"But  we  were  taking  the  money  to  His  Majesty  our- 
selves." 

"And  Victor  de  Marmont  was  after  it.  Mr.  ClyflFurde 
may  have  known  that.  .  .  .  Remember,  my  dear,"  con- 
tinued Madame,  "that  these  were  my  impressions  last  night. 
Maurice's  account  of  the  den  of  cutthroats  has  modified 
these  entirely." 

Again  Crystal  was  silent.  The  frown  had  darkened  on 
her  face :  there  was  a  line  of  bitter  resentment  round  her 
lips — a  look  of  contempt,  of  hate,  of  a  desire  to  hurt,  in 
her  eyes. 

"Maurice,"  she  said  abruptly  at  last. 

"Yes?" 

"I  did  wound  that  thief,  did  I  not?" 


THE  CRIME  231 

"Yes.  In  the  shoulder  ...  it  gave  me  a  slight  ad- 
vantage .  .  ."he  said  with  affected  modesty. 

"I  am  glad.  And  you  .  .  .  you  were  able  to  punish  him 
too,  I  hope." 

"Yes.    I  punished  him." 

He  was  watching  her  very  closely,  for  inwardly  he  had 
been  wondering  how  she  had  taken  his  news.  She  was 
strangely  agitated,  so  Maurice's  troubled,  jealous  heart  told 
him;  her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  were  wet  and  a  tiny 
lace  handkerchief  which  she  twisted  between  her  fingers 
was  nothing  but  a  damp  rag. 

"Oh !  I  hate  him !  I  hate  him !"  she  murmured  as  with 
an  impatient  gesture  she  brushed  the  gathering  tears  from 
her  eyes.  "Father  had  been  so  kind  to  him — so  were  we 
all.     How  could  he?  how  could  he?" 

"His  duty,  I  suppose,"  said  St.  Genis  magnanimously. 

"His  duty?"  she  retorted  scornfully. 

"To  the  cause  which  he  served." 

"Duty  to  a  usurper,  a  brigand,  the  enemy  of  his  country. 
Was  he,  then,  paid  to  serve  the  Corsican?" 

"Probably." 

"His  being  in  trade — buying  gloves  at  Grenoble — was  all 
a  plant  then?" 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  said  St.  Genis,  who  much  against  his 
will  now  was  sinking  ever  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  quagmire 
of  lying  and  cowardice  into  which  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  drift. 

"And  he  was  nothing  better  than  a  spy !" 

No  one,  not  even  Crystal  herself,  could  have  defined  with 
what  feelings  she  said  this.  Was  it  solely  contempt?  or  did 
a  strange  mixture  of  regret  and  sorrow  mingle  with  the 
scorn  which  she  felt?  Swiftly  her  thoughts  had  flown 
back  to  that  Sunday  evening— a  very  few  days  ago— when 
the  course  of  her  destiny  was  so  suddenly  changed  once 
more,  when  her  marriage  with  a  man  whom  she  could  never 


232  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

love  was  broken  off,  when  the  possibilities  once  more  rose 
upon  the  horizon  of  her  life,  of  a  renewed  existence  of 
poverty  and  exile  in  the  wake  of  a  dispossessed  king. 

That  same  evening  a  man  whom  she  had  hardly  noticed 
before — ^a  man  neither  of  her  own  nationality  nor  of  her 
own  caste — this  same  Englishman,  Clyffurde,  had  entered 
into  her  life — not  violently  or  aggressively,  but  just  with  a 
few  words  of  intense  sympathy  and  with  a  genuine  offer  of 
friendship ;  and  she  somehow,  despite  much  kindness  which 
encompassed  her  always,  had  felt  cheered  and  warmed 
by  his  words,  and  a  strange  and  sweet  sense  of  security 
against  hurt  and  sorrow  had  entered  her  heart  as  she  lis- 
tened to  them. 

And  now  she  knew  that  all  that  was  false — false  his 
sympathy,  false  his  offers  of  friendship — ^his  words  were 
false,  his  hand-grasp  false.  Treachery  lurked  behind  that 
kindly  look  in  his  eyes,  and  falsehood  beneath  his  smile. 

*'He  was  nothing  better  than  a  spy!"  The  sting  of  that 
thought  hurt  her  more  than  she  could  have  thought  possible. 
She  had  so  few  real  friends  and  this  one  had  proved  a  sham. 
Had  she  been  alone  she  would  have  given  way  to  tears,  but 
before  Maurice  or  even  her  aunt  she  was  ashamed  of  her 
grief,  ashamed  of  her  feelings  and  of  her  thoughts.  There 
was  a  great  deal  yet  that  she  wished  to  know,  but  somehow 
the  words  choked  her  when  she  wanted  to  ask  further  ques- 
tions. Fortunately  Mme.  la  Duchesse  was  taking  Maurice 
thoroughly  to  task.  She  asked  innumerable  questions,  and 
would  not  spare  him  the  relation  of  a  single  detail. 

"Tell  us  all  about  it  from  the  beginning,  Maurice,"  she 
said.     "Where  did  you  first  meet  the  rogue?" 

And  Maurice — weary  and  ashamed — was  forced  to  em- 
bark on  a  minute  account  of  adventures  that  were  lies  from 
beginning  to  end :  he  had  stumbled  across  the  wayside  hos- 
telry on  a  lonely  by-path :  he  had  found  it  full  of  cut-throats : 
he  had  stalked  and  waylaid  their  chief  in  his  own  room. 


THE  CRIME  2S3 

and  forced  him  to  give  up  the  money  by  the  weight  of  his 
fists. 

It  was  paltry  and  pitiable :  nevertheless,  St.  Genis,  as  he 
warmed  to  his  tale,  lost  the  shame  of  it;  only  wrath  re- 
mained with  him :  anger  that  he  should  be  forced  into  this 
despicable  role  through  the  intrigues  of  a  rival. 

In  his  heart  he  was  already  beginning  to  find  innumer- 
able excuses  for  his  cowardice:  and  his  rage  and  hatred 
grew  against  Clyffurde  as  Madame's  more  and  more  per- 
sistent questions  taxed  his  imagination  almost  to  exhaus- 
tion. 

When,  after  half  an  hour  of  this  wearying  cross-examina- 
tion, Madame  at  last  granted  him  a  respite,  he  made  a  pre- 
text of  urgent  business  at  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois'  headquar- 
ters and  took  his  leave  of  the  ladies.  He  waited  in  vain 
hope  that  the  Duchesse's  tact  "would  induce  her  to  leave  him 
alone  for  a  moment  with  Crystal.  Madame  stuck  ob- 
stinately to  her  chair  and  was  blind  and  deaf  to  every  hint 
of  appeal  from  him,  whilst  Crystal,  who  was  singularly  ab- 
sorbed and  had  lent  but  a  very  indifferent  ear  to  his  narra- 
tive, made  no  attempt  to  detain  him. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  just  as  Madame  had 
done;  it  lay  hot  and  moist  in  his  grasp. 

"Crystal,"  he  continued  to  murmur  as  his  lips  touched 
her  fingers,  "I  love  you  ...  I  worked  for  you  ...  it  is 
not  my  fault  that  I  failed." 

She  looked  at  him  kindly  and  sympathetically  through 
her  tears,  and  gave  his  hand  a  gentle  little  pressure. 

"I  am  sure  it  was  not  your  fault,"  she  replied  gently, 
"poor  Maurice.  .  .  ." 

It  was  not  more  than  any  kind  friend  would  say  under 
like  circumstances,  but  to  a  lover  every  little  word  from 
the  beloved  has  a  significance  of  its  own,  every  look  from 
her  has  its  hidden  meaning.  Somewhat  satisfied  and  cheered 
Maurice  now  took  his  final  leave: 


234  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"Does  M.  le  Comte  propose  to  continue  his  journey  to 
Paris?"  he  asked  at  the  last. 

"Oh,  yes!"  Crystal  replied,  "he  could  not  stay  away  while 
he  feels  that  His  Majesty  may  have  need  of  him.  Oh, 
Maurice!"  she  added  suddenly,  forgetting  her  absorption, 
her  wrath  against  Clyffurde,  her  own  disappointment — 
everything — in  face  of  the  awful  possible  calamity,  and 
turning  anxious,  appealing  eyes  upon  the  young  man,  "you 
don't  think,  do  you,  that  that  abominable  usurper  will  suc- 
ceed in  ousting  the  King  once  more  from  his  throne?" 

And  St.  Genis — remembering  Laffray  and  Grenoble,  re- 
membering what  was  going  on  in  Lyons  at  this  moment, 
the  silent  grumblings  of  the  troops,  the  defaced  white  cock- 
ades, the  cries  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  which  he  himself  had 
heard  as  he  rode  through  the  town — St.  Genis,  remembering 
all  this,  could  only  shake  his  head  and  shrug  his  shoulders 
in  miserable  doubt. 

When  he  had  gone  at  last.  Crystal's  thoughts  veered  back 
once  more  to  Qyffurde  and  to  his  treachery. 

"What  abominable  deceit,  ma  tante!"  she  cried,  and  quite 
against  her  will  tears  of  wrath  and  of  disappointment  rose 
to  her  eyes.  "What  villainy!  what  odious^  execrable 
treachery !" 

Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  took  up  her  knit- 
ting. 

"These  days,  my  dear,"  she  said  with  unwonted  placidity, 
"the  world  is  so  full  of  treachery  that  men  and  women 
absorb  it  by  every  pore." 

"But  I  shall  not  leave  it  at  that,"  rejoined  Crystal  reso- 
lutely. "I'll  find  a  means  of  punishing  that  vile  traitor  .  .  . 
I'll  make  him  feel  the  hatred  which  he  has  so  richly  de- 
served— I  shall  not  rest  till  I  have  made  him  sufifer  as  he 
makes  me  suffer  now.  ..." 

"My  dear — my  dear — "  protested  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  not 
a  little  shocked  at  the  girl's  vehemence. 


THE  CRIME  235 

Indeed,  Crystal's  otherwise  sweet,  gentle,  yielding  per- 
sonality seemed  completely  transformed:  for  the  moment 
she  was  just  a  sensitive  woman  who  has  been  hit  and  hurt, 
and  whose  desire  for  retaliation  is  keener,  more  relentless 
than  that  of  a  man.  All  the  soft  look  in  her  blue  eyes  had 
gone — they  looked  dark  and  hard — her  fair  curls  were 
matted  against  her  damp  forehead;  indeed,  Madame 
thought  that  for  the  moment  all  Crystal's  beauty  had  gone — 
the  sweet,  submissive  beauty  of  the  girl,  the  grace  of  move- 
ment, the  shy,  appealing  gentleness  of  her  ways.  She  now 
looked  all  determination,  resentment,  and,  above  all,  re- 
venge. 

"The  dear  child,"  sighed  the  Duchesse  over  her  knitting, 
"it  is  the  English  blood  in  her.  Those  people  never  know 
how  to  accept  the  inevitable:  they  are  always  wanting  to 
fight  someone  for  something  and  never  know  when  they 
are  beaten." 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL 


And  the  triumphal  march  from  the  gulf  of  Jouan  con- 
tinued uninterrupted  to  Paris. 

After  Laffray  and  Grenoble,  Lyons,  where  the  silk-weav- 
ers of  La  Guillotiere  assembled  in  their  thousands  to  de- 
molish the  barricades  which  had  been  built  up  on  their 
bridge  against  the  arrival  of  the  Emperor,  and  watched 
his  entry  into  their  city  waving  kerchiefs  and  hats  in  his 
honour,  and  tricolour  flags  and  cockades  fished  out  of  cup- 
boards, where  they  had  lain  hidden  but  not  forgotten  for 
one  whole  year. 

After  Lyons,  Villefranche,  where  sixty  thousand  peasants 
and  workmen  awaited  his  arrival  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  of 
Liberty,  on  the  top  of  which  a  brass  eagle,  the  relic  of  some 
old  standard,  glistened  like  gold  as  it  caught  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun. 

And  Nevers,  where  the  townsfolk  urged  the  regiments 
as  they  march  through  the  city  to  tear  the  white  cockades 
from  their  hats!  And  Chalon-sur-Saone,  where  the  work- 
people commandeer  a  convoy  of  artillery  destined  for  the 
army  of  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois! 

The  prefets  of  the  various  departements,  the  bureaucracy 
of  provinces  and  cities,  are  not  only  amazed  but  struck  with 
terror : 

"This  is  a  new  Revolution !"  they  cry  in  dismay. 

Yes !  it  is  a  new  Revolution !  the  revolt  of  the  peasantry 

236 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  237 

of  the  poor,  the  humble,  the  oppressed !  The  hatred  which 
they  felt  against  that  old  regime  which  had  come  back  to 
them  with  its  old  arrogance  and  its  former  tyrannies  had 
joined  issue  with  the  cult  of  the  army  for  the  Emperor  who 
had  led  it  to  glory,  to  fortune  and  to  fame. 

The  people  and  the  army  were  roused  by  the  same  en- 
thusiasm, and  marched  shoulder  to  shoulder  to  join  the 
standard  of  Napoleon — the  little  man  in  the  shabby  hat  and 
the  grey  redingote,  who  for  them  personified  the  spirit  of 
the  great  revolution,  the  great  struggle  for  liberty  and  its 
final  victory. 

The  army  of  the  Comte  d' Artois — that  portion  of  it  which 
remained  loyal — was  powerless  against  the  overwhelming 
tide  of  popular  enthusiasm,  powerless  against  dissatisfac- 
tion, mutterings  and  constant  defections  in  its  ranks.  The 
army  would  have  done  well  in  Provence — for  Provence  was 
loyal  and  royalist,  man,  woman  and  child:  but  Napoleon 
took  the  route  of  the  Alps,  and  avoided  Provence;  by  the 
time  he  reached  Lyons  he  had  an  army  of  his  own  and  M. 
le  Comte  d' Artois — fearing  more  defections  and  worse  de- 
feats— had  thought  it  prudent  to  retire. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  if  a  single  shot  had  been  fired 
against  his  original  little  band  Napoleon's  march  on  Paris 
would  have  been  stopped.  Who  shall  tell?  There  are 
such  "ifs"  in  the  world,  which  no  human  mind  can  chal- 
lenge. Certain  it  is  that  that  shot  was  not  fired.  At  Laf- 
f  ray,  Randon  gave  the  order,  but  he  did  not  raise  his  musket 
himself ;  on  the  walls  of  Grenoble  St.  Genis,  in  command  of 
the  artillery  and  urged  by  the  Comte  de  Cambray,  did  not 
dare  to  give  the  order  or  to  fire  a  gun  himself.  "The  men 
declare,"  he  had  said  gloomily,  "that  they  would  blow  their 
officers  from  their  own  guns." 

And  at  Lyons  there  was  not  militiaman,  a  royalist,  volun- 
teer or  a  pariah  out  of  the  streets  who  was  willing  to  fire 
that  first  and  "single  shot" :  and  though  Marshal  Macdonald 


238  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

swore  ultimately  that  he  would  do  it  himself,  his  determina- 
tion failed  him  at  the  last  when  surrounded  by  his  wavering 
troops  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  conquerer  of 
Austerlitz  and  Jena  and  Rivoli  and  a  thousand  other  glori- 
ous fights,  with  the  man  in  the  grey  redingote  who  had 
created  him  Marshal  of  France  and  Duke  of  Tarente  on 
the  battlefields  of  Lombardy,  his  comrade-in-arms  who  had 
shared  his  own  scanty  army  rations  with  him,  slept  beside 
him  round  the  bivouac  fires,  and  round  whom  now  there 
rose  a  cry  from  end  to  end  of  Lyons :    "Vive  I'Empereur !" 

n 

Victor  de  Marmont  did  not  wait  for  the  arrival  of  the 
Emperor  at  Lyons:  nor  did  he  attempt  to  enter  the  city. 
He  knew  that  there  was  still  some  money  in  the  imperial 
treasury  brought  over  from  Elba,  and  his  mind — always  in 
search  of  the  dramatic — had  dwelt  with  pleasure  on  thoughts 
of  the  day  when  the  Emperor,  having  entered  Fontaine- 
bleau,  or  perhaps  even  Paris  and  the  Tuileries,  would  there 
be  met  by  his  faithful  de  Marmont,  who  on  bended  knees  in 
the  midst  of  a  brilliant  and  admiring  throng  would  present 
to  him  the  twenty-five  million  francs  originally  the  property 
of  the  Empress  herself  and  now  happily  wrested  from  the 
cupidity  of  royalist  traitors. 

The  picture  pleased  de  Marmont's  fancy:  he  dwelt  on  it 
with  delight,  he  knew  that  no  one  requited  a  service  more 
amply  and  more  generously  than  Napoleon:  he  knew  that 
after  this  service  rendered  there  was  nothing  to  which  he — 
de  Marmont — young  as  he  was,  could  not  aspire — title, 
riches,  honours,  anything  he  wanted  would  speedily  become 
his,  and  with  these  to  his  credit  he  could  claim  Crystal  de 
Cambray  once  more. 

Oh!  she  would  be  humbled  again  by  then,  she  and  her 
father  too,  the  proud  aristocrats,  doomed  once  more  to 
penury  and  exile,  unless  he — de  Marmont — came  forth  like 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  239 

the  fairy  prince  to  the  beggarmaid  with  hands  laden  with 
riches,  ready  to  lay  these  at  the  feet  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

Yes !  Crystal  de  Cambray  would  be  humbled !  De  Mar- 
mont,  though  he  felt  that  he  loved  her  more  and  better  than 
any  man  had  ever  loved  any  woman  before,  nevertheless 
had  a  decided  wish  that  she  should  be  humbled  and  suffer 
bitterly  thereby.  He  felt  that  her  pride  was  his  only  en- 
emy: her  pride  and  royalist  prejudices.  Of  the  latter  he 
thought  but  little:  confident  of  his  Emperor's  success,  he 
thought  that  all  those  hot-headed  royalists  would  soon  real- 
ise the  hopelessness  of  their  cause — rendered  all  the  more 
hopeless  through  its  short-lived  triumph  of  the  past  year — • 
and  abandon  it  gradually  and  surely,  accepting  the  inevitable 
and  rejoicing  over  the  renewed  glory  which  would  come 
over  France. 

As  for  her  pride!  well!  that  was  going  to  be  humbled, 
along  with  the  pride  of  the  Bourbon  princes,  of  that  fatuous 
old  king,  of  all  those  arrogant  aristocrats  who  had  come 
back  after  years  of  exile,  as  arrogant,  as  tyrannical  as  ever 
before. 

These  were  pleasing  thoughts  which  kept  Victor  de  Mar- 
mont  company  on  his  way  between  Lyons  and  Fontaine- 
bleau.  Once  past  Villefranche  he  sent  the  bulk  of  his  escort 
back  to  Lyons,  where  the  Emperor  should  have  arrived  by 
this  time :  he  had  written  out  a  superficial  report  of  his  ex- 
pedition, which  the  sergeant  in  charge  of  the  little  troop  was 
to  convey  to  the  Emperor's  own  hands.  He  only  kept  two 
men  with  him,  put  himself  and  them  into  plain,  travelling 
clothes  which  he  purchased  at  Villefranche,  and  continued 
his  journey  to  the  north  without  much  haste;  the  roads 
were  safe  enough  from  footpads,  he  and  his  two  men 
were  well  armed,  and  what  stragglers  from  the  main  roy- 
alist army  he  came  across  would  be  far  too  busy  with  their 
own  retreat  and  their  own  disappointment  to  pay  much  heed 
to  a  civilian  and  seemingly  harmless  traveller. 


240  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

De  Marmont  loved  to  linger  on  the  way  in  the  towns  and 
hamlets  where  the  news  of  the  Emperor's  approach  had 
already  been  wafted  from  Grenoble,  or  Lyons,  or  Ville- 
franche  on  the  wings  of  wind  or  birds,  who  shall  say? 
Enough  that  it  had  come,  that  the  peasants,  assembled  in 
masses  in  their  villages,  were  whispering  together  that  he 
was  coming — the  little  man  in  the  grey  redingote — I'Em- 
pereur ! 

And  de  Marmont  would  halt  in  those  villages  and  stop 
to  whisper  with  the  peasants  too:  Yes!  he  was  coming! 
and  the  whole  of  France  was  giving  him  a  rousing  welcome ! 
There  was  Laffray  and  Grenoble  and  Lyons !  the  army  ral- 
lied to  his  standard  as  one  man ! 

And  de  Marmont  would  then  pass  on  to  another  village, 
to  another  town,  no  longer  whispering  after  a  while,  but 
loudly  proclaiming  the  arrival  of  the  Emperor  who  had 
come  into  his  own  again. 

After  Nevers  he  was  only  twenty- four  hours  ahead  of 
Napoleon  and  his  progress  became  a  triumphant  one :  news- 
papers, despatches  had  filtrated  through  from  Paris — news 
became  authentic,  though  some  of  it  sounded  a  little  wild. 
Wherever  de  Marmont  arrived  he  was  received  with  ac- 
clamations as  the  man  who  had  seen  the  Emperor,  who  had 
assisted  at  the  Emperor's  magnificent  entry  into  Grenoble, 
who  could  assure  citizens  and  peasantry  that  it  was  all 
true,  that  the  Emperor  would  be  in  Paris  again  very  shortly 
and  that  once  more  there  would  be  an  end  to  tyranny  and 
oppression,  to  the  rule  of  the  aristocrats  and  a  number  of 
incompetent  and  fatuous  princes. 

He  did  not  halt  at  Fontainebleau,  for  now  he  knew  that 
the  Court  of  the  Tuileries  was  in  a  panic,  that  neither  the 
Comte  d'Artois,  nor  the  Due  de  Berry,  nor  any  of  the  royal 
princes  had  succeeded  in  keeping  the  army  together:  that 
defections  had  been  rife  for  the  past  week,  even  before 
Napoleon  had  shown  himself,  and  that  Marshal  Ney,  the 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  241 

bravest  soldier  in  France,  had  joined  his  Emperor  at  Aux- 
erre. 

No!  de  Marmont  would  not  halt  at  Fontainebleau.  It 
was  Paris  that  he  wanted  to  see !  Paris,  which  to-day  would 
witness  the  hasty  flight  of  the  gouty  and  unpopular  King 
whom  it  had  never  learned  to  love!  Paris  decking  herself 
out  like  a  bride  for  the  arrival  of  her  bridegroom !  Paris 
waiting  and  watching,  while  once  again  on  the  Tuileries 
and  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  on  the  Lxjuvre  and  the  Luxembourg, 
on  church  towers  and  government  buildings  the  old  tricolour 
flag  waved  gaily  in  the  wind. 

He  slept  that  night  at  a  small  hotel  in  the  Louvre  quar- 
ter, but  the  whole  evening  he  spent  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel 
with  the  crowd  outside  the  Tuileries,  watching  the  departure 
from  the  palace  of  the  infirm  King  of  France  and  of  his 
Court.  The  crowd  was  silent  and  obviously  deeply  moved. 
The  spectacle  before  it  of  an  old,  ailing  monarch,  driven 
forth  out  of  the  home  of  his  ancestors,  and  forced  after  an 
exile  of  three  and  twenty  years  and  a  brief  reign  of  less  than 
one,  to  go  back  once  more  to  misery  and  exile,  was  pitiable 
in  the  extreme. 

Many  forgot  all  that  the  brief  reign  had  meant  in  dis- 
appointments and  bitter  regrets,  and  only  saw  in  the  pa- 
thetic figure  that  waddled  painfully  from  portico  to  carriage 
door  a  monarch  who  was  tmhappy,  abandoned  and  defence- 
less :  a  monarch,  too,  who,  in  his  unheroic,  sometimes  gro- 
tesque person,  was  nevertheless  the  representative  of  all 
the  privileges  and  all  the  rights,  of  all  the  dignity  and  maj- 
esty pertaining  to  the  most  ancient  ruling  dynasty  in  Eu- 
rope, as  well  as  of  all  the  humiliations  and  misfortunes 
which  that  same  dynasty  had  endured. 

Ill 

It  is  late  in  the  evening  of  March  20th.  A  thin  mist  is 
spreading  from  the  river  right  over  Paris,  and  from  the 


242  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Place  du  Carrousel  the  lighted  windows  of  the  Tuileries 
palace  appear  only  like  tiny,  dimly-flickering  stars. 

Here  an  immense  crowd  is  assembled.  It  has  waited  pa- 
tiently hour  after  hour,  ever  since  in  the  earlier  part  of  the 
afternoon  a  courier  has  come  over  from  Fontainebleau  with 
the  news  that  the  Emperor  is  already  there  and  would  be 
in  Paris  this  night. 

It  is  the  same  crowd  which  twenty-four  hours  ago  shed 
a  tear  or  two  in  sympathy  for  the  departing  monarch :  now 
it  stands  here — waiting,  excited,  ready  to  cheer  the  return 
of  a  popular  hero — half-forgotten,  wildly  acclaimed,  madly 
welcomed,  to  be  cursed  again,  and  again  forgotten  so  soon. 
It  was  a  heterogeneous  crowd  forsooth!  made  up  in  great 
part  of  the  curious,  the  idle,  the  indifferent,  and  in  great 
part,  too,  of  the  Bonapartist  enthusiasts  and  malcontents 
who  had  groaned  under  the  reactionary  tyranny  of  the  Res- 
toration— of  malcontents,  too,  of  no  enthusiasm,  who  were 
ready  to  welcome  any  change  which  might  bring  them  to 
prominence  or  to  fortune.  With  here  and  there  a  sprinkling 
of  hot-headed  revolutionaries,  cursing  the  return  of  the 
Emperor  as  heartily  as  they  had  cursed  that  of  the  Bourbon 
Icing:  and  here  and  there  a  few  heart-sick  royalists,  come 
to  watch  the  final  annihilation  of  their  hopes. 

Victor  de  Marmont,  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloak,  stood 
among  the  crowd  for  a  while.  He  knew  that  the  Emperor 
would  probably  not  be  in  Paris  before  night,  and  he  loved 
to  be  in  the  very  midst  of  the  wave  of  enthusiasm  which 
was  surging  higher  and  ever  higher  in  the  crowd,  and 
hear  the  excited  whispers,  and  to  feel  all  round  him,  wrap- 
ping him  closely  like  a  magic  mantle  of  warmth  and  de- 
light, the  exaltation  of  this  mass  of  men  and  women  as- 
sembled here  to  acclaim  the  hero  whom  he  himself  adored. 
Closely  buttoned  inside  his  coat  he  had  scraps  of  paper 
worth  the  ransom  of  any  king. 

Among  the  crowd,  too,   Bobby  Clyffurde  moved  and 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  243 

stood.  He  was  one  of  those  who  watched  this  enthusiasm 
with  a  heart  filled  with  forebodings.  He  knew  well  how 
short  this  enthusiasm  would  be :  he  knew  that  within  a  few 
weeks — days  perhaps — the  bold  and  reckless  adventurer 
who  had  so  easily  reconquered  France  would  realise  that  the 
Imperial  crown  would  never  be  allowed  to  sit  firmly  upon 
his  head.  None  in  this  crowd  knew  better  that  the  present 
pageant  and  glory  would  be  short-lived,  than  did  this  tall, 
quiet  Englishman  who  listened  with  half  an  ear  and  a  smile 
of  good-natured  contempt  to  the  loud  cries  of  "Vive  I'Em- 
pereur!"  which  rose  spontaneously  whenever  the  sound  of 
horses'  hoofs  or  rattles  of  wheels  from  the  direction  of  Fon- 
tainebleau  suggested  the  approach  of  the  hero  of  the  day. 
None  knew  better  than  he  that  already  in  far-oflF  England 
another  great  hero,  named  Wellington,  was  organising  the 
forces  which  presently  would  crush — for  ever  this  time — 
the  might  and  ambitions  of  the  man  whom  England  had 
never  acknowledged  as  anything  but  a  usurper  and  a  foe. 

And  closely  buttoned  inside  his  coat  Clyffurde  had  a  let- 
ter which  he  had  received  at  his  lodgings  in  the  Alma  quar- 
ter only  a  few  moments  before  he  sallied  forth  into  the 
streets.  That  letter  was  an  answer  to  a  confidential  en- 
quiry of  his  own  sent  to  the  Chief  of  the  British  Secret 
Intelligence  Department  resident  in  Paris,  desiring  to  know 
if  the  Department  had  any  knowledge  of  a  vast  sum  of 
money  having  come  unexpectedly  into  the  hands  of  His 
Majesty  the  King  of  France,  before  his  flight  from  the 
capital. 

The  answer  was  an  emphatic  "No!"  The  Intelligence 
Department  knew  of  no  such  windfall.  But  its  secret  agents 
reported  that  Victor  de  Marmont.  captain  of  the  usurper's 
body-guard,  had  waylaid  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis  on 
the  high  road  not  far  from  Lyons.  The  escort  which  had 
accompanied  Victor  de  Marmont  on  that  occasion  had  been 
dismissed  by  him  at  Villefranche.  and  the  information  which 


24,4  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

the  British  Secret  Intelligence  Department  had  obtained 
came  through  the  indiscretion  of  the  sergeant  in  charge  of 
the  escort,  who  had  boasted  in  a  tavern  at  Lyons  that  he 
had  actually  searched  M.  de  St.  Genis  and  found  a  large 
sum  of  money  upon  him,  of  which  M.  de  Marmont  promptly 
took  possession. 

When  Bobby  Clyffurde  received  this  letter  and  first  mas- 
tered its  contents,  the  language  which  he  used  would  have 
done  honour  to  a  Toulon  coal-heaver.  He  cursed  St. 
Genis'  stupidity  in  allowing  himself  to  be  caught;  but  above 
all  he  cursed  himself  for  his  soft-heartedness  which  had 
prompted  him  to  part  with  the  money. 

The  letter  which  brought  him  the  bad  news  seemed  to 
scorch  his  hand,  and  brand  it  with  the  mark  of  folly.  He 
had  thought  to  serve  the  woman  he  loved,  first,  by  taking  the 
money  from  her,  since  he  knew  that  Victor  de  Marmont 
with  an  escort  of  cavalry  was  after  it,  and,  secondly,  by  al- 
lowing the  man  whom  she  loved  to  have  the  honour  and 
glory  of  laying  the  money  at  his  sovereign's  feet.  The 
whole  had  ended  in  a  miserable  fiasco,  and  ClyflFurde  felt 
sore  and  wrathful  against  himself. 

And  also  among  the  crowd — among  those  who  came, 
heartsick,  hopeless,  forlorn,  to  watch  the  triumph  of  the 
enemy  as  they  had  watched  the  humiliation  of  their  feeble 
King — was  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  with  his  daughter 
Crystal  on  his  arm. 

They  had  come,  as  so  many  royalists  had  done,  with 
a  vague  hope  that  in  the  attitude  of  the  crowd  they  would 
discern  indifference  rather  than  exultation,  and  that  the 
active  agents  of  their  party,  as  well  as  those  of  England 
and  of  Prussia,  would  succeed  presently  in  stirring  up  a 
counter  demonstration,  that  a  few  cries  of  "Vive  le  roi !" 
would  prove  to  the  army  at  least  and  to  the  people  of 
Paris  that  acclamations  for  the  usurper  were  at  any  rate 
not  unanimous. 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  245 

But  the  crowd  was  not  indifferent — it  was  excited :  when 
first  the  Comte  de  Cambray  and  Crystal  arrived  on  the 
Place  du  Carrousel,  a  number  of  white  cockades  could  be 
picked  out  in  the  throng,  either  worn  on  a  hat  or  fixed  to  a 
buttonhole,  but  as  the  afternoon  wore  on  there  were  fewer 
and  fewer  of  these  small  white  stars  to  be  seen :  the  temper 
of  the  crowd  did  not  brook  this  mute  reproach  upon  its  en- 
thusiasm. One  or  two  cockades  had  been  roughly  torn  and 
thrown  into  the  mud,  and  the  wearer  unpleasantly  ill-used 
if  he  persisted  in  any  royalistic  demonstration.  Crystal, 
when  she  saw  these  incidents,  was  not  the  least  frightened. 
She  wore  her  white  cockade  openly  pinned  to  her  cloak; 
she  was  far  too  loyal,  far  too  enthusiastic  and  fearless, 
far  too  much  a  woman  to  yield  her  convictions  to  the  popu- 
lar feeling  of  the  moment;  and  she  looked  so  young  and 
so  pretty,  clinging  to  the  arm  of  her  father,  who  looked  a 
picturesque  and  harmless  representative  of  the  fallen 
regime,  that  with  the  exception  of  a  few  rough  words, 
a  threat  here  and  there,  they  had  so  far  escaped  active 
molestation. 

And  the  crowd  presently  had  so  much  to  see  that  it 
ceased  to  look  out  for  white  cockades,  or  to  bait  the  sad- 
eyed  royalists.  A  procession  of  carriages,  sparse  at  first 
and  simple  in  appearance,  had  begun  to  make  its  way  from 
different  parts  of  the  town  across  the  Place  du  Carrousel 
toward  the  Tuileries.  They  arrived  very  quietly  at  first, 
with  as  little  clatter  as  possible,  and  drew  up  before  the  gates 
of  the  Pavilion  de  Flore  with  as  little  show  as  may  be: 
the  carriage  doors  were  opened  unostentatiously,  and  dark, 
furtive  figures  stepped  out  from  them  and  almost  ran  to  the 
door  of  the  palace,  so  eager  were  they  to  escape  observa- 
tion, their  big  cloaks  wrapped  closely  round  them  to  hide  the 
court  dress  or  uniform  below. 

Ministers,  dignitaries  of  the  Court,  Councillors  of  State; 
majordomos,  stewards,  butlers,  body-servants ;  they  all  came 


246  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

one  by  one  or  in  groups  of  twos  or  threes.  As  the  afternoon 
wore  on  these  arrivals  grew  less  and  less  furtive;  the  car- 
riages arrived  with  greater  clatter  and  to-do,  with  finer 
liveries  and  more  gorgeous  harness.  Those  who  stepped 
out  of  the  carriage  doors  were  no  longer  quick  and  stealthy 
in  their  movements :  they  lingered  near  the  step  to  give  an 
order  or  to  chat  to  a  friend;  the  big  cloak  no  longer  con- 
cealed the  gorgeous  uniform  below,  it  was  allowed  to  fall 
away  from  the  shoulder,  so  as  to  display  the  row  of  medals 
and  stars,  the  gold  embroidery,  the  magnificence  of  the 
Court  attire. 

The  Emperor  had  left  Fontainebleau !  Within  an  hour 
he  would  be  in  Paris!  Everyone  knew  it,  and  the  excite- 
ment in  the  crowd  that  watched  grew  more  and  more  in- 
tense. Last  night  these  same  men  and  women  had  looked 
with  mute  if  superficial  sympathy  on  the  departure  of  Louis 
XVin.  through  these  same  palace  gates:  many  eyes  then 
became  moist  at  the  sight,  as  memory  flew  back  twenty 
years  to  the  murdered  king — his  flight  to  Varennes,  his  igno- 
minious return,  his  weary  Calvary  from  prison  to  court 
house  and  thence  to  the  scaffold.  And  here  was  his  brother 
— come  back  after  twenty-three  years  of  exile,  acclaimed 
by  the  populace,  cheered  by  foreign  soldiers — Russians,  Aus- 
trians,  English — ^anything  but  French — and  driven  forth 
once  more  to  exile  after  the  brief  glory  that  lasted  not  quite 
a  year. 

But  this  the  crowd  of  to-day  has  already  forgotten  with 
the  completeness  peculiar  to  crowds :  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren too,  they  are  no  longer  mute,  they  talk  and  they  chat- 
ter; they  scream  with  astonishment  and  delight  whenever 
now  from  more  and  more  carriages,  more  and  more  gor- 
geously dressed  folk  descend.  The  ladies  are  beginning  to 
arrive :  the  wives  of  the  great  Court  dignitaries,  the  ladies  of 
the  Court  and  household  of  the  still-absent  Empress:  they 
do  not  attempt  to  hide  their  brilliant  toilettes,  their  bare 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  247 

shoulders  and  arms  gleam  through  the  fastenings  of  their 
cloaks,  and  diamonds  sparkle  in  their  hair. 

The  crowd  has  recognised  some  of  the  great  marshals, 
the  men  who  in  the  Emperor's  wake  led  the  French  troops 
to  victory  in  Italy,  in  Prussia,  in  Austria:  Maret  Due  de 
Bassano  is  there  and  the  crowd  cheers  him,  the  Due  de 
Rovigo,  Marshal  Davout,  Prince  d'Eckmuhl,  General  Ex- 
celmans,  one  of  Napoleon's  oldest  companions  at  arms,  the 
Duke  of  Gaeta,  the  Duke  of  Padua,  a  crowd  of  generals 
and  superior  officers.  It  seems  like  the  world  of  the  Sleep- 
ing Beauty  and  of  the  Enchanted  Castle — which  a  kiss  has 
awakened  from  its  eleven  months'  sleep.  The  Empire  had 
only  been  asleep,  it  had  dreamed  a  bad  dream,  wherein  its 
hero  was  a  prisoner  and  an  exile :  now  it  is  slowly  wakening 
back  to  life  and  to  reality. 

The  night  wears  on:  darkness  and  fog  envelop  Paris 
more  and  more.  Excitement  becomes  akin  to  anxiety.  If 
the  Emperor  did  leave  Fontainebleau  when  the  last  courier 
said  that  he  did,  he  should  certainly  be  here  by  now.  There 
are  strange  whispers,  strange  waves  of  evil  reports  that 
spread  through  the  waiting  crowd :  "A  royalist  fanatic  had 
shot  at  the  Emperor!  the  Emperor  was  wounded!  he  was 
dead!" 

Oh!  the  excitement  of  that  interminable  wait! 

At  last,  just  as  from  every  church  tower  the  bells  strike 
the  hour  of  nine,  there  comes  the  muffled  sound  of  a  dis- 
tant cavalcade:  the  sound  of  horses  galloping  and  only  half 
drowning  that  of  the  rumbling  of  coach  wheels. 

It  comes  from  the  direction  of  the  embankment,  and 
from  far  away  now  is  heard  the  first  cr>^  of  "Vive  I'Em- 
pereur!"  The  noise  gets  louder  and  more  clear,  the  cries 
are  repeated  again  and  again  till  they  merge  into  one  great, 
uproarious  clamour.  Like  the  ocean  when  lashed  by  the 
wind,  the  crowd  surges,  moves,  rises  on  tiptoe,  subsides,  falls 
back  to  crush  forward  again  and  once  more  to  retreat  as  a 


248  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

heavy  coach,  surrounded  by  a  thousand  or  so  of  mounted 
men,  dashes  over  the  cobbles  of  the  Place  du  Carrousel, 
whilst  the  clamour  of  the  crowd  becomes  positively  deaf- 
ening. 

"Vivel'Empereur!" 

The  officers  in  the  courtyard  of  the  palace  rush  to  the 
coach  as  it  draws  up  at  the  Pavilion  de  Flore :  one  of  them 
succeeds  in  opening  the  carriage  door.  The  Emperor 
is  literally  torn  out  of  the  carriage,  carried  to  the  vestibule, 
where  more  officers  seize  him,  raise  him  from  the  crowd, 
bear  him  along,  hoisted  upon  their  shoulders,  up  the  monu- 
mental staircase. 

Their  enthusiasm  is  akin  to  delirium:  they  nearly  tear 
their  hero  to  pieces  in  their  wild,  mad,  frantic  welcome. 

"In  Heaven's  name,  protect  his  person,"  exclaims  the  Due 
de  Vicence  anxiously;  and  he  and  Lavalette  manage  to  get 
hold  of  the  banisters  and  by  dint  of  fighting  and  pushing 
succeed  in  walking  backwards  step  by  step  in  front  of  the 
Emperor,  thus  making  a  way  for  him. 

Lavalette  can  hardly  believe  his  eyes,  and  the  Due  de 
Vicence  keeps  murmuring :  "It  is  the  Emperor !  It  is  the 
Emperor !" 

And  he — ^the  little  stout  man  in  green  cloth  coat  and 
white  breeches — walks  up  the  steps  of  his  reconquered 
palace  like  a  man  in  a  dream :  his  eyes  are  fixed  apparently 
on  nothing,  he  makes  no  movement  to  keep  his  too  en- 
thusiastic friends  away :  the  smile  upon  his  lips  is  mean- 
ingless and  fixed. 

"Vive  I'Empereur!"  vociferates  the  crowd. 

Vive  I'Empereur  for  one  hundred  days :  a  few  weeks  of 
joy,  a  few  weeks  of  anxiety,  a  few  weeks  of  indecision,  of 
wavering  and  of  doubt.  Then  defeat  more  irrevocable  than 
before!  exile  more  distant!  despair  more  complete. 

Vive  I'Empereur  while  we  shout  with  excitement,  while 
we  remember  the  disappointments  of  the  past  year,  while 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  249 

we  hope  for  better  things  from  a  hand  that  has  lost  its 
cunning,  a  mind  that  has  lost  its  power. 

Vive  I'Empereur!  Let  him  live  for  an  hundred  days, 
while  we  forget  our  enthusiasm  and  Europe  prepares  its 
final  crushing  blow.  Let  him  live  until  we  remember  once 
again  the  horrors  of  war,  the  misery,  the  famine,  the  dev- 
astated homes!  until  once  more  we  see  the  maimed  and 
crippled  crawling  back  wearily  from  the  fields  of  glory, 
until  our  ears  ring  with  the  wails  of  widows  and  the  cries 
of  the  fatherless. 

Then  let  him  no  longer  live,  for  he  it  is  who  has  brought 
this  misery  on  us  through  his  will  and  through  his  ambition, 
and  France  has  suffered  so  much  from  the  aftermath  of 
glory,  that  all  she  wants  now  is  rest. 

IV 

Gradually — but  it  took  some  hours — the  tumult  and  ex- 
citement in  and  round  the  Tuileries  subsided.  The  Emperor 
managed  to  shut  himself  up  in  his  study  and  to  eat  some 
supper  in  peace,  while  gradually  outside  his  windows  the 
crowd — who  had  nothing  more  to  see  and  was  getting  tired 
of  staring  up  at  glittering  panes  of  glass— went  back  more 
or  less  quietly  to  their  homes. 

Only  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Tuileries,  the  troopers  of 
the  cavalry  which  had  formed  the  Emperor's  escort  from 
Fontainebleau  tethered  their  horses  to  the  railings,  rolled 
themselves  in  their  mantles  and  slept  on  the  pavements, 
giving  to  this  portion  of  the  palace  the  appearance  of  a 
bivouac  in  a  place  which  has  been  taken  by  storm. 

One  of  the  last  to  leave  the  Place  du  Carrousel  was  Bobby 
Clyffurde.  The  crowd  was  thin  by  this  time,  but  it  was 
the  tired  and  the  indifferent— the  merely  curious— who  had 
been  the  first  to  go.  Those  who  remained  to  the  last  were 
either  the  very  enthusiastic  who  wanted  to  set  up  a  hnal 
shout  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  after  their  idol  had  entirely 


250  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

disappeared  from  their  view,  or  the  malcontents  who  would 
not  lose  a  moment  to  discuss  their  grievances,  to  murmur 
covert  threats,  or  suggest  revolt  in  some  shape  or  form  or 
kind. 

Bobby  slipped  quickly  past  several  of  these  isolated 
groups,  indifferent  to  the  dark  and  glowering  looks  of  sus- 
picion that  were  cast  at  his  tall,  muscular  figure  with  the 
firm  step  and  the  defiant  walk  that  was  vaguely  reminiscent 
of  the  British  troops  that  had  been  in  Paris  last  year  at 
the  time  of  the  foreign  occupation.  He  had  skirted  the 
Tuileries  gardens  and  was  walking  along  the  embankment 
which  now  was  dark  and  solitary  save  for  some  rowdy 
enthusiasts  on  ahead  who,  arm  in  arm  in  two  long  rows 
that  reached  from  the  garden  railings  to  the  parapet,  were 
obstructing  the  roadway  and  shouting  themselves  hoarse 
with  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 

Clyffurde,  who  was  walking  faster  than  they  did,  was 
just  deliberating  in  his  mind  whether  he  would  turn  back 
and  go  home  some  other  way  or  charge  this  unpleasant 
obstruction  from  the  rear  and  risk  the  consequences,  when 
he  noticed  two  figures  still  further  on  ahead  walking  in  the 
same  direction  as  he  himself  and  the  rowdy  crowd. 

One  of  these  two  figures — ^thus  viewed  in  the  distance, 
through  the  mist  and  from  the  back — looked  nevertheless 
like  that  of  a  woman,  which  fact  at  once  decided  Bobby 
as  to  what  he  would  do  next.  He  sprinted  toward  the 
crowd  as  fast  as  he  could,  but  unfortunately  he  did  not 
come  up  with  them  in  time  to  prevent  the  two  unfortunate 
pedestrians  being  surrounded  by  the  turbulent  throng  which, 
still  arm  in  arm  and  to  the  accompaniment  of  wild  shouts, 
had  formed  a  ring  around  them  and  were  now  vociferating 
at  the  top  of  raucous  voices : 

*'A  bas  la  cocarde  blanche!    A  bas!    Vive  I'Empereur!" 

A  flickering  street  lamp  feebly  lit  up  this  unpleasant  scene. 
Bobby  saw  the  vague  outline  of  a  man  and  of  a  woman. 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  251 

standing  boldly  in  the  midst  of  the  hostile  crowd  while  two 
white  cockades  gleamed  defiantly  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  their  cloaks.  To  an  Englishman,  who  was  a  past- 
master  in  the  noble  art  of  using  fists  and  knees  to  advantage, 
the  situation  was  neither  uncommon  nor  very  perilous.  The 
crowd  was  noisy  it  is  true,  and  was  no  doubt  ready  enough 
for  mischief,  but  Clyffurde's  swift  and  scientific  onslaught 
from  the  rear  staggered  and  disconcerted  the  most  bold. 
There  was  a  good  deal  more  shouting,  plenty  of  cursing;  the 
Englishman's  arms  and  legs  seemed  to  be  flying  in  every 
direction  like  the  arms  of  a  windmill ;  a  good  many  thuds 
and  bumps,  a  few  groans,  a  renewal  of  the  attack,  more 
thuds  and  groans,  and  the  discomfited  group  of  roisterers 
fled  in  every  direction. 

Bobby  with  a  smile  turned  to  the  two  motionless  figures 
whom  he  had  so  opportunely  rescued  from  an  unpleasant 
plight. 

"Just  a  few  turbulent  blackguards,"  he  said  lightly,  as 
he  made  a  quick  attempt  at  readjusting  the  set  of  his  coat 
and  the  position  of  his  satin  stock.  'There  was  not  much 
fight  in  them  really,  and  ..." 

He  had,  of  course,  lost  his  hat  in  the  brief  if  somewhat 
stormy  encounter  and  now — as  he  turned — the  thin  streak 
of  light  from  the  street-lamp  fell  full  upon  his  face  with  its 
twinkling,  deep-set  eyes,  and  the  half -humorous,  self-depre- 
catory curl  of  the  firm  mouth. 

A  simultaneous  exclamation  came  from  his  two  proteges 
and  stopped  the  easy  flow  of  his  light-hearted  words.  He 
peered  closely  into  the  gloom  and  it  was  his  turn  now  to 
exclaim,  half  doubting,  wholly  astonished: 

"Mademoiselle  Crystal  .  .  .  M.  le  Comte.  ..." 

"Indeed,  Sir,"  broke  in  the  Comte  slowly,  and  with  a 
voice  that  seemed  to  be  trembling  with  emotion,  "it  is  to 
my  daughter  and  to  myself  that  you  have  just  rendered  a 
signal  and  generous  service.     For  this  I  tender  you  my 


252  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

thanks,  yet  believe  me,  I  pray  you  when  I  say  that  both 
she  and  I  would  rather  have  Suffered  any  humiliation  or  ill- 
usage  from  that  rough  crowd  than  owe  our  safety  and  com- 
fort to  you." 

There  was  so  much  contempt,  hatred  even,  in  the  tone 
of  voice  of  this  old  man  whose  manner  habitually  was  a 
pattern  of  moderation  and  of  dignity  that  for  the  moment 
Clyffurde  was  completely  taken  aback.  Puzzlement  fought 
with  resentment  and  with  the  maddening  sense  that  he  was 
anyhow  impotent  to  avenge  even  so  bitter  an  insult  as  had 
just  been  hurled  upon  him — against  a  man  of  the  Comte's 
years  and  status. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  he  said  at  last,  "will  you  let  me  remind 
you  that  the  other  day  when  you  turned  me  out  of  your 
house  like  a  dishonest  servant,  you  would  not  allow  me 
to  say  a  single  word  in  my  own  justification?  The  man 
on  whose  word  you  condemned  me  then  without  a  hearing, 
is  a  scatter-brained  braggart  who  you  yourself  must  know 
is  not  a  man  to  be  trusted  and  .  .  ." 

"Pardon  me.  Monsieur,"  broke  in  the  Comte  with  perfect 
sangfroid,  "even  if  I  acted  on  that  evening  with  undue 
haste  and  ill-considered  judgment,  many  things  have  hap- 
pened since  which  you  yourself  surely  would  not  wish  to 
discuss  with  me,  just  when  you  have  rendered  me  a  signal 
service." 

"Your  i>ardon,  M.  le  Comte,"  retorted  Clyffurde  with 
equal  coolness,  "I  know  of  nothing  which  could  possibly 
justify  the  charges  which,  not  later  than  last  Sunday,  you 
laid  at  my  door." 

"The  charge  which  I  laid  at  your  door  then,  Mr.  Clyf- 
furde, has  not  been  lifted  from  its  threshold  yet.  I 
charged  you  with  deliberately  conspiring  against  my  King 
and  my  country  all  the  while  that  you  were  eating  bread 
and  salt  at  my  table.  I  charged  you  with  striving  to  render 
assistance  to  that  Corsican  usurper  whom  may  the  great 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  253 

God  punish,  and  you  yourself  practically  owned  to  this 
before  you  left  my  house." 

"This  I  did  not,  M.  le  Comte,"  broke  in  ayffurde  hotly. 
"As  a  man  of  honour  I  give  you  my  word,  that  except  for 
my  being  in  de  Marmont's  company  on  the  day  that  he 
posted  up  the  Emperor's  proclamation  in  Grenoble,  I  had 
no  hand  in  any  political  scheme." 

"And  you  would  have  me  believe  you,"  exclaimed  the 
Comte,  with  ever-growing  vehemence,  "when  you  talk  of 
that  Corsican  brigand  as  'the  Emperor.'  Those  words. 
Sir,  are  an  insult,  and  had  you  not  saved  my  daughter  and 
me  just  now  from  violence  I  would — old  as  I  am — strike 
you  in  the  face  for  them." 

With  an  impatient  sigh  at  the  old  man's  hot-headed  ob- 
stinacy, Clyffurde  turned  with  a  look  of  appeal  to  Crystal, 
who  up  to  now  had  taken  no  part  in  the  discussion :  "Made- 
moiselle," he  said  gently,  "will  you  not  at  least  do  me  jus- 
tice ?  Cannot  you  see  that  I  am  clumsy  at  defending  mine 
own  honour,  seeing  that  I  have  never  had  to  do  it  before?" 

"I  only  see.  Monsieur,"  she  retorted  coldly,  "that  you 
are  making  vain  and  pitiable  efforts  to  regain  my  father's 
regard — no  doubt  for  purposes  of  your  own.  But  why 
should  you  trouble  ?  You  have  nothing  more  to  gain  from 
us.  Your  clever  comedy  of  a  highwayman  on  the  road 
hats  succeeded  beyond  your  expectations.  The  Corsican  who 
now  sits  in  the  armchair  lately  vacated  by  an  infirm  mon- 
arch whom  you  and  yours  helped  to  dethrone,  will  no  doubt 
reward  you  for  your  pains.  As  for  me  I  can  only  echo 
my  father's  feelings :  I  would  ten  thousand  times  sooner 
have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  a  rough  crowd  of  ignorant  folk 
than  owe  my  safety  to  your  interference." 

She  took  her  father's  arm  and  made  a  movement  to  go: 
instinctivelv  Clyffurde  tried  to  stop  her:  at  her  words  he 
had  flushed  with  anger  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair.  The 
injustice  of  her  accusation  maddened  him,  but  the  bitter 


254  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

resentment  in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  the  look  of  passionate 
hatred  with  which  she  regarded  him  as  she  spoke,  positively 
appalled  him. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  he  said  firmly,  "I  cannot  let  you  go  like 
this,  whilst  such  horrible  thoughts  of  me  exist  in  your  mind. 
England  gave  you  shelter  for  three  and  twenty  years ;  in  the 
name  of  my  country's  kindness  and  hospitality  toward  you, 
I — as  one  of  her  sons — demand  that  you  tell  me  frankly 
and  clearly  exactly  what  I  am  supposed  to  have  done  to 
justify  this  extraordinary  hatred  and  contempt  which  you 
and  Mademoiselle  Crystal  seem  now  to  have  for  me." 

"One  of  England's  sons.  Monsieur!"  retorted  the  Comte 
equally  firmly.  "Nay!  you  are  not  even  that.  England 
stands  for  right  and  for  justice,  for  our  legitimate  King 
and  the  punishment  of  the  usurper." 

"Great  God !"  he  exclaimed,  more  and  more  bewildered 
now,  "are  you  accusing  me  of  treachery  against  mine  own 
country?    This  will  I  allow  no  man  to  do,  not  even  .  .  ." 

"Then,  Sir,  I  pray  you,"  rejoined  Crystal  proudly,  "go 
and  seek  a  quarrel  with  the  man  who  has  unmasked  you; 
who  caught  you  red-handed  with  the  money  in  your  posses- 
sion which  you  had  stolen  from  us,  who  forced  you  to  give 
up  what  you  had  stolen,  and  whom  then  you  and  your 
friend  Victor  de  Marmont  waylaid  and  robbed  once  more. 
Go  then,  Mr.  Clyffurde,  and  seek  a  quarrel  with  the  Marquis 
de  St.  Genis,  who  has  already  struck  you  in  the  face  once 
and  no  doubt  will  be  ready  to  do  so  again." 

And  what  of  Clyffurde's  thoughts  while  the  woman  whom 
he  loved  with  all  the  strength  of  his  lonely  heart  poured 
forth  these  hideous  insults  upon  him?  Amazement,  then 
wrath,  bewilderment,  then  final  hopelessness,  all  these  sen- 
sations ran  riot  through  his  brain. 

St.  Genis  had  behaved  like  an  abominable  blackguard ! 
this  he  gathered  from  what  she  said :  he  had  lied  like  a 
mean  skunk  and  betrayed  the  man  who  had  rendered  him 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  266, 

an  infinitely  great  service.  Of  him  Clyffurde  wouldn't  even 
think !  Such  despicable,  crawling  worms  did  exist  on  God's 
earth:  he  knew  that!  but  he  possessed  the  happy  faculty, 
the  sunny  disposition  that  is  able  to  pass  a  worm  by  and 
ignore  its  existence  while  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  all 
that  is  beautiful  in  earth  and  in  the  sky.  Of  St.  Genis, 
therefore,  he  would  not  think ;  some  day,  perhaps,  he  might 
be  able  to  punish  him — but  not  now — not  while  this  poor, 
forlorn,  heartsick  girl  pinned  her  implicit  faith  upon  that 
wretched  worm  and  bestowed  on  him  the  priceless  guerdon 
of  her  love.  An  infinity  of  pity  rose  in  his  kindly  heart 
for  her  and  obscured  every  other  emotion.  That  same  pity 
he  had  felt  for  her  before,  a  sweet,  protecting  pity — gentle 
sister  to  fiercer,  madder  love  which  had  perhaps  never  been 
so  strong  as  it  was  at  this  hour  when,  for  the  second  time, 
he  was  about  to  make  a  supreme  sacrifice  for  her. 

That  the  sacrifice  must  be  made,  he  already  knew :  knew 
it  even  when  first  St.  Genis'  name  escaped  her  lips.  She 
loved  St.  Genis  and  she  believed  in  him,  and  he,  Clyffurde, 
who  loved  her  with  every  fibre  of  his  being,  with  all  the 
passionate  ardour  of  his  lonely  heart,  could  serve  her  no 
better  than  by  accepting  this  awful  humiliation  which  she 
put  upon  him.  If  he  could  have  justified  himself  now,  he 
would  not  have  done  it,  not  while  she  loved  St.  Genis,  and 
he — Clyffurde — was  less  than  nothing  to  her. 

What  did  it  matter  after  all  what  she  thought  of  him? 
He  would  have  given  his  life  for  her  love,  but  short  of 
that  everything  else  was  anyhow  intolerable — ^her  contempt, 
her  hatred  ?  what  mattered  ?  since  to-night  anyhow  he  would 
pass  out  of  her  life  for  ever. 

He  was  ready  for  the  sacrifice— sacrifice  of  pride,  of 
honour,  of  peace  of  mind— but  he  did  want  to  know  that 
that  sacrifice  would  be  really  needed  and  that  when  made 
it  would  not  be  in  vain  :  and  in  order  to  gain  this  end  he  put 
a  final  question  to  her : 


^56  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"One  moment.  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "before  you  go 
will  you  tell  me  one  thing  at  least ;  was  it  M.  de  St.  Genis 
himself  who  accused  me  of  treachery?" 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  deny  it,  Sir,"  she  re- 
plied coldly.  "It  was  M.  de  St.  Genis  himself  who  gave 
to  my  father  and  to  me  a  full  account  of  the  interview  which 
he  had  with  you  at  a  lonely  inn,  some  few  kilometres  from 
Lyons,  and  less  than  two  hours  after  we  had  been  shame- 
fully robbed  on  the  highroad  of  money  that  belonged  to 
the  King." 

"And  did  M.  de  St.  Genis  tell  you.  Mademoiselle,  that 
I  purposed  to  use  that  money  for  mine  own  ends?" 

"Or  for  those  of  the  Corsican,"  she  retorted  impatiently. 
"I  care  not  which.  Yes!  Sir,  M.  de  St.  Genis  told  me 
that  with  his  own  lips  and  when  I  had  heard  the  whole 
miserable  story  of  your  duplicity  and  your  treachery,  I — 
a  helpless,  deceived  and  feeble  woman — did  then  and  there 
register  a  vow  that  I  too  would  do  you  some  grievous  wrong 
one  day — a  wrong  as  great  as  you  had  done  not  only  to  the 
King  of  France  but  to  me  and  to  my  father  who  trusted 
you  as  we  would  a  friend.  What  you  did  to-night  has  of 
course  altered  the  irrevocableness  of  my  vow.  I  owe,  per- 
haps, my  father's  life  to  your  timely  intervention  and  for 
this  I  must  be  grateful,  but  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  broke  in  a  kind  of  passionate  sob,  and  it  took 
her  a  moment  or  two  to  recover  herself,  even  while  Clyf- 
furde  stood  by,  mute  and  with  well-nigh  broken  heart,  his 
very  soul  so  filled  with  sorrow  for  her  that  there  was  no 
room  in  it  even  for  resentment. 

"Father  let  us  go  now,"  Crystal  said  after  a  while  with 
brusque  transition  and  in  a  steady  voice;  "no  purpose  can 
be  served  by  further  recriminations." 

"None,  my  dear,"  said  the  Comte  in  his  usual  polished 
manner.  "Personally  I  have  felt  all  along  that  explanations 
could  but  aggravate  the  unpleasantness  of  the  present  posi- 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  267 

tion.  Mr.  Clyffurde  understands  perfectly,  I  am  sure.  He 
had  his  axe  to  grind — whether  personal  or  political  we 
really  do  not  care  to  know — we  are  not  likely  ever  to  meet 
again.  All  we  can  do  now  is  to  thank  him  for  his  timely 
intervention  on  our  behalf  and  .  .  ." 

"And  brand  him  a  liar,"  broke  in  Clyffurde  almost  in- 
voluntarily and  with  bitter  vehemence. 

"Your  pardon,  Monsieur,"  retorted  the  Comte  coldly, 
"neither  my  daughter  nor  I  have  done  that.  It  is  your 
deeds  that  condemn  you,  your  own  admissions  and  the 
word  of  'M.  de  St.  Genis.  Would  you  perchance  suggest 
that  he  lied?" 

"Oh,  no,"  rejoined  Clyffurde  with  perfect  calm,  "it  is  I 
who  lied,  of  course." 

He  had  said  this  very  slowly  and  as  if  speaking  with  ma- 
ture deliberation :  not  raising  his  voice,  nor  yet  allowing  it 
to  quiver  from  any  stress  of  latent  emotion.  And  yet  there 
was  something  in  the  tone  of  it,  something  in  the  man's 
attitude,  that  suggested  such  a  depth  of  passion  that,  quite 
instinctively,  the  Comte  remained  silent  and  awed.  For 
the  moment,  however,  Clyffurde  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
the  older  man's  presence;  wounded  in  every  fibre  of  his 
being  by  the  woman  whom  he  loved  so  tenderly  and  so  de- 
votedly, he  had  spoken  only  to  her,  compelling  her  attention 
and  stirring — even  by  this  simple  admission  of  a  despicable 
crime — an  emotion  in  her  which  she  could  not — would  not 
define. 

She  turned  large  inquiring  eyes  on  him,  into  which  she 
tried  to  throw  all  that  she  felt  of  hatred  and  contempt  for 
him.  She  had  meant  to  wound  him  and  it  seemed  indeed 
as  if  she  had  succeeded  beyond  her  dearest  wish.  By  the 
dim,  flickering  light  of  the  street-lamp  his  face  looked  hag- 
gard and  old.  The  traitor  was  suffering  almost  as  much 
as  he  deserved,  almost  as  much— Crystal  said  obstinately 
to  herself— as  she  had  wished  him  to  do.    And  yet,  at  sight 


258  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

of  him  now,  Crystal  felt  a  strong,  unconquerable  pity  for 
him :  the  womanly  instinct  no  doubt  to  heal  rather  than  to 
hurt. 

But  this  pity  she  was  not  prepared  to  show  him:  she 
wanted  to  pass  right  out  of  his  life,  to  forget  once  and 
for  all  that  sense  of  warmth  of  the  soul,  of  comfort  and  of 
peace  which  she  had  felt  in  his  presence  on  that  memorable 
evening  at  Brestalou.  Above  all,  she  never  wanted  to  touch 
his  hand  again,  the  hand  which  seemed  to  have  such  power 
to  protect  and  to  shield  her,  when  on  that  same  evening 
she  had  placed  her  own  in  it. 

Therefore,  now  she  took  her  father's  arm  once  more: 
she  turned  resolutely  to  go.  One  more  curt  nod  of  the  head, 
one  last  look  of  undying  enmity,  and  then  she  would  pass 
finally  out  of  his  life  for  ever. 


How  Clyffurde  got  back  to  his  lodgings  that  night  he 
never  knew.  Crystal,  after  his  final  admission,  had  turned 
without  another  word  from  him,  and  he  had  stood  there 
in  the  lonely,  silent  street  watching  her  retreating  form — on 
her  father's  arm — ^until  the  mist  and  gloom  swallowed  her 
up  as  in  an  elvish  grave.  Then  mechanically  he  hunted  for 
his  hat  and  he,  too,  walked  away. 

That  was  the  end  of  his  life's  romance,  of  course.  The 
woman  whom  he  loved  with  his  very  soul,  who  held  his 
heart,  his  mind,  his  imagination  captive,  whose  every  look 
on  him  was  joy,  whose  every  smile  was  a  delight,  had  gone 
out  of  his  life  for  ever!  She  had  turned  away  from  him 
as  she  would  from  a  venomous  snake!  she  hated  him  so 
cruelly  that  she  would  gladly  hurt  him — do  him  some  griev- 
ous wrong  if  she  could.  And  Clyffurde  was  left  in  utter 
loneliness  with  only  a  vague,  foolish  longing  in  his  heart — 
the  longing  that  one  day  she  might  have  her  wish,  and 
might  have  the  power  to  wound  him  to  death — bodily  just 


THE  ASCENT  OF  THE  CAPITOL  2j9 

as  she  had  wounded  him  to  the  depth  of  his  soul  to-night. 

For  the  rest  there  was  nothing  more  for  him  to  do  in 
France.  King  Louis  was  not  hke  to  remain  at  Lille  very 
long :  within  twenty-four  hours  probably  he  would  continue 
his  journey — his  flight — to  Ghent — where  once  more  he 
would  hold  his  court  in  exile,  with  all  the  fugutive  royalists 
rallied  around  his  tottering  throne. 

Clyffurde  had  already  received  orders  from  his  chief  at 
the  Intelligence  Department  to  report  himself  first  at  Lille, 
then — if  the  King  and  court  had  already  left — at  Ghent. 
If,  however,  there  were  plenty  of  men  to  do  the  work  of 
the  Department  it  was  his  intention  to  give  up  his  share  in 
it  and  to  cross  over  to  England  as  soon  as  possible,  so  as  to 
take  up  the  first  commission  in  the  new  army  that  he  could 
get.  England  would  be  wanting  soldiers  more  urgendy 
than  she  had  ever  done  before:  mother  and  sisters  would 
be  well  looked  after:  he — Bobby — had  earned  a  fortune 
for  them,  and  they  no  longer  needed  a  bread-winner  now: 
whilst  England  wanted  all  her  sons,  for  she  would  surely 
fight. 

Clyfifurde,  who  had  seen  the  English  papers  that  morn- 
ing— as  they  were  brought  over  by  an  Intelligence  courier — 
had  realised  that  the  debates  in  Parliament  could  only  end 
one  way. 

England  would  not  tolerate  Bonaparte;  she  would  not 
even  tolerate  his  abdication  In  favour  of  his  own  son. 
Austria  had  already  declared  her  intention  of  renewing 
the  conflict  and  so  had  Prussia.  England's  decision  would, 
of  course,  turn  the  scale,  and  Bobby  in  his  own  mind  had  no 
doubt  which  way  that  decision  would  go. 

The  man  whom  the  people  of  France  loved,  and  whom 
his  army  idolised,  was  the  disturber  of  the  peace  of  Europe. 
No  one  would  believe  his  protestations  of  pacific  intentions 
now :  he  had  caused  too  much  devastation,  too  much  misery 
in  the  past — who  would  believe  in  him  for  the  future  ? 


260  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

For  the  sake  of  that  past,  and  for  dread  of  the  future,  he 
must  go — go  from  whence  he  could  not  again  return,  and 
Bobby  Clyffurde — remembering  Grenoble,  remembering 
Lyons,  Villefranche  and  Nevers — could  not  altogether  sup- 
press a  sigh  of  regret  for  the  brave  man,  the  fine  genius, 
the  reckless  adventurer  who  had  so  boldly  scaled  for  the 
second  time  the  heights  of  the  Capitol,  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that  the  Tarpeian  Rock  was  so  dangerously  near. 

VI 

At  this  same  hour  when  Bobby  Clyffurde  finally  bade 
adieu  to  all  the  vague  hopes  of  happiness  which  his  love  for 
Crystal  de  Cambray  had  engendered  in  his  heart,  his  whilom 
companion  in  the  long  ago — rival  and  enemy  now — Victor 
de  Marmont,  was  laying  a  tribute  of  twenty-five  million 
francs  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved  Emi>eror,  and  receiving 
the  thanks  of  the  man  to  serve  whom  he  would  gladly  have 
given  his  life. 

"What  reward  shall  we  give  you  for  this  service?"  the 
Emperor  had  deigned  to  ask. 

"The  means  to  subdue  a  woman's  pride.  Sire,  and  make 
her  thankful  to  marry  me,"  replied  de  Marmont  promptly. 

"A  title,  what?"  queried  the  Emperor.  "You  have  every- 
thing else,  you  rogue,  to  please  a  woman's  fancy  and  make 
her  thankful  to  marry  you." 

"A  title.  Sire,  would  be  a  welcome  addition,"  said  de 
Marmont  lightly,  "and  the  freedom  to  go  and  woo  her,  until 
France  and  my  Emperor  need  me  again." 

"Then  go  and  do  your  wooing,  man,  and  come  back  here 
to  me  in  three  months,  for  I  doubt  not  by  then  the  flames 
of  war  will  have  been  kindled  against  me  again." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT 


But  the  hand  had  lost  its  cunning,  the  mighty  brain  its 
indomitable  will-power.  Genius  was  still  there,  but  it  was 
cramped  now  by  indecision — the  indecision  born  of  a  sense 
of  enmity  around,  suspicion  where  there  should  have  been 
nothing  but  enthusiasm,  and  the  blind  devotion  of  the  past. 

The  man  who,  all  alone,  by  the  force  of  his  personality 
and  of  his  prestige  had  reconquered  France,  who  had  been 
acclaimed  from  the  Gulf  of  Juan  to  the  gates  of  the  Tuile- 
ries  as  the  saviour  of  France,  the  people's  Emperor,  the  be- 
loved of  the  nation  returned  from  exile,  the  man  who  on 
the  20th  of  March  had  said  with  his  old  vigour  and  his 
old  pride:  "Failure  is  the  nightmare  of  the  feeble!  impo- 
tence, the  refuge  of  the  poltroon!"  the  man  who  had 
marched  as  in  a  dream  from  end  to  end  of  France  to  find 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  whole  of  Europe  in  league 
against  him,  with  a  million  men  being  hastily  armed  to  hurl 
him  from  his  throne  again,  now  found  the  south  of  France 
in  open  revolt,  the  west  ready  to  rise  against  him,  the 
north  in  accord  with  his  enemies. 

He  has  not  enough  men  to  oppose  to  those  millions,  his 
arsenals  are  depleted,  his  treasury  empty.  And  after  he 
has  worked  sixteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  at  re- 
organising his  army,  his  finances,  his  machinery  of  war, 
he  has  to  meet  a  set  of  apathetic  or  openly  hostile  ministers, 

261 


262  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

constitutional  representatives,  men  who  are  ready  to  thwart 
him  at  every  turn,  jealous  only  of  curtailing  his  power,  of 
obscuring  his  ascendency,  of  clipping  the  eagle's  wings,  ere 
it  soars  to  giddy  heights  again.  And  to  them  he  must 
give  in,  from  them  he  must  beg,  entreat :  give  up,  give  up 
all  the  time  one  hoped-for  privilege  after  another,  one  power 
after  another. 

He  yields  the  military  dictatorship  to  other — far  less  com- 
petent— hands ;  he  grants  liberty  to  the  press,  liberty  of  de- 
bate, liberty  of  election,  liberty  to  all  and  sundry :  but  sus- 
picion lurks  around  him ;  they  suspect  his  sincerity,  his  good- 
will, they  doubt  his  promises,  they  mistrust  that  dormant 
Olympian  ambition  which  has  precipitated  France  into  hu- 
miliation and  brought  the  strangers'  armies  within  her  gates. 

The  same  man  was  there — the  same  genius  who  even  now 
could  have  mastered  all  the  enemies  of  France  and  saved 
her  from  her  present  subjection  and  European  insignificance, 
but  the  men  round  him  were  not  the  same.  He,  the  guiding 
hand,  was  still  there,  but  the  machinery  no  longer  worked 
as  it  had  done  in  the  past  before  disaster  had  blunted  and 
stiffened  the  temper  of  its  steel. 

The  men  around  the  Emperor  were  not  now  as  they  were 
in  the  days  of  Jena  and  Austerlitz  and  Wagram.  Their 
characters  and  temperaments  had  undergone  a  change.  Dis- 
aster had  brought  on  slackness,  the  past  year  of  constant 
failures  had  engendered  a  sense  of  discouragement  and  de- 
moralisation, a  desire  to  argue,  to  foresee  difficulties,  to 
foretell  further  disasters. 

He  saw  it  all  well  enough — he  the  man  with  the  far- 
seeing  mind  and  the  eagle-eyes  that  missed  nothing — neither 
a  look  of  indecision,  nor  an  indication  of  revolt.  He  saw 
it  all  but  he  could  do  nothing,  for  he  too  felt  overwhelmed 
by  that  wave  of  indecision  and  of  discouragement.  Faith 
in  himself,  energy  in  action,  had  gone.  He  envisaged  the 
possibility  of  a  vanquished  and  dismembered  France. 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       263 

Above  all  he  had  lost  belief  in  his  Star:  the  star  of  his 
destiny  which,  rising  over  the  small  island  of  Corsica,  shin- 
ing above  a  humble  middle-class  home,  had  guided  him  step 
by  step,  from  triumph  to  triumph,  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of 
glory  to  which  man's  ambition  has  ever  reached. 

That  star  had  been  dimmed  once,  its  radiance  was  no 
longer  unquenchable :  "Destiny  has  turned  against  me,"  he 
said,  "and  in  her  I  have  lost  my  most  valuable  helpmate." 

And  now  the  whole  of  Europe  had  declared  war  against 
him,  and  in  a  final  impassioned  speech  he  turns  to  his  min- 
isters and  to  the  representatives  of  his  people:  "Help  me 
to  save  France !"  he  begs,  "afterwards  we'll  settle  our  quar- 
rels." 

One  hundred  days  after  he  began  his  dream-march,  from 
the  gulf  of  Juan  in  the  wake  of  his  eagle,  he  started  from 
Paris  with  the  Army  which  he  loved  and  which  alone  he 
trusted,  to  meet  Europe  and  his  fate  on  the  plains  of  Bel- 
gium. I 

n 

And  in  Brussels  they  danced,  danced  late  into  the  night. 
No  one  was  to  know  that  within  the  next  three  days  the 
destinies  of  the  whole  world  would  be  changed  by  the  hand 
of  God. 

And  how  to  hide  from  timid  eyes  the  sense  of  this  on- 
coming destiny?  how  to  stop  for  a  few  brief  hours  the  flow 
of  women's  tears? 

The  ball  should  have  been  postponed— Her  Grace  of  Rich- 
mond was  willing  that  it  should  be  so.  How  could  men 
and  women  dance,  flirt  and  make  merry  while  Death  was 
already  reckoning  the  heavy  toll  of  brave  young  lives  which 
she  would  demand  on  the  morrow?  But  who  knows  Eng- 
land who  has  not  seen  her  at  the  hour  of  danger? 

Put  ofif  the  ball?  why!  perish  the  thought!  The  timid 
townsfolk  of  Brussels  or  the  ladies  of  the  French  royalist 


2G4  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

party  who  were  in  great  numbers  in  the  city  might  think 
there  was  something  amiss.  What  was  amiss  ?  some  gallant 
young  men  would  go  on  the  morrow  and  conquer  or  die 
for  England's  honour !  there's  nothing  amiss  in  that !  Why 
put  off  the  ball?  The  girls  would  be  disappointed — they 
who  like  to  dance — why  should  they  be  deprived  of  part- 
ners, just  because  some  of  them  would  lie  dead  on  the 
battlefield  to-morrow? 

Open  your  salons,  Madame  la  Duchesse!  The  soldiers 
of  Britain  will  come  to  your  ball.  They  will  laugh  and 
dance  and  flirt  to-night  as  bravely  as  they  will  die  to- 
morrow. 

The  sands  of  life  are  running  low  for  them:  in  a  few 
hours  perhaps  a  bullet,  a  bayonet,  who  knows  ?  will  cut  short 
that  merry  laugh,  still  the  gallant  heart  that  even  now 
takes  a  last  and  fond  farewell  from  a  blushing  partner,  after 
a  waltz,  in  a  sweet-scented  alcove  with  sounds  of  soft  and 
distinct  music  around  that  stills  the  coming  cannon's  roar. 

Gordon  and  Lancey,  Crawford  and  Ponsonby  and  Hal- 
kett,  aye !  and  Wellington  too !  What  immortal  names  are 
spoken  by  the  flunkeys  to-night  as  they  usher  in  these  brave 
men  into  the  hostess'  presence.  The  ballroom  is  brilliantly 
illuminated  with  hundreds  of  wax  candles,  the  women  have 
put  on  their  pretty  dresses,  displaying  bare  arms  and  daz- 
zling shoulders;  the  men  are  in  showy  uniforms,  glittering 
with  stars  and  decorations:  Orange,  Brunswick,  Nassau, 
English,  Belgian,  Scottish,  French,  all  are  there  gay  with 
gold  and  silver  braid. 

The  confusion  of  tongues  is  greater  surely  than  round 
the  tower  of  Babel.  German  and  French  and  English,  Scots 
accent  and  Irish  brogue,  pedantic  Hanoverian  and  lusty 
Brunswick  tones,  all  and  more  of  these  varied  sounds  min- 
gle with  one  another,  and  half-drown  by  their  clamour  the 
sweet  strains  of  the  Viennese  orchestra  that  discoursed 
dreamy  waltzes  from  behind  a  bower  of  crimson  roses; 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       265 

vvhilst  ponderous  Flemish  wives  of  city  burgomasters  gaze 
open-mouthed  at  the  elegant  ladies  of  the  old  French  no- 
blesse, and  shy  Belgian  misses  peep  enviously  at  their  more 
self-reliant  English  friends. 

And  the  hostess  smiles  equally  graciously  to  all:  she  is 
ready  with  a  bright  word  of  welcome  for  everybody  now, 
just  as  she  will  be  anon  with  a  mute  look  of  farewell,  when 
— at  ten  o'clock — by  Wellington's  commands,  one  by  one, 
one  officer  after  another  will  slip  out  of  this  hospitable 
house,  out  into  the  rainy  night,  for  a  hurried  visit  to  lodg- 
ings or  barracks  to  collect  a  few  necessaries,  and  then  to 
work — to  horse  or  march — to  form  into  the  ranks  of  battle 
as  they  had  formed  for  the  quadrille — squares  to  face  the 
enemy — advance,  deploy  as  they  had  done  in  the  mazes  of 
the  dance!  to  fight  as  they  had  danced!  to  give  their  life  as 
they  had  given  a  kiss. 

Bobby  Clyffurde  only  saw  Crystal  de  Cambray  from  afar. 
He  had  his  commission  in  Colin  Halkett's  brigade;  his  or- 
ders were  the  same  as  those  of  many  others  to-night:  to 
put  in  an  appearance  at  Her  Grace's  ball,  to  dispel  any  fears 
that  might  be  confided  to  him  through  a  fair  partner's  lips: 
to  show  confidence,  courage  and  gaiety,  and  at  ten  o'clock 
to  report  for  duty. 

But  the  crowd  in  the  ball-room  was  great,  and  Crystal 
de  Cambray  was  the  centre  of  a  very  close  and  exclusive 
little  crowd,  as  indeed  were  all  the  ladies  of  the  old  French 
noblesse,  who  were  here  in  their  numbers.  They  had  left 
their  country  in  the  wake  of  their  dethroned  king  and  de- 
spite the  anxieties  and  sorrows  of  the  past  three  months, 
while  the  star  of  the  Corsican  adventurer  seemed  to  shine 
with  renewed  splendour,  and  that  of  the  unfortunate  King 
of  France  to  be  more  and  more  on  the  wane,  they  had  some- 
how filled  the  sleepv  towns  of  Belgium— Ghent,  Brussels,, 
Charleroi— with  the' atmosphere  of  their  own  elegance  and 
their  unimpeachable  good  taste. 


^66  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Clyffurde  knew  that  the  Comte  de  Cambray  had  settled 
in  Brussels  with  his  daughter  and  sister,  pending  the  new 
turn  in  the  fortunes  of  his  cause :  the  English  colony  there 
provided  the  royalist  fugitives  with  many  friends,  and  Ghent 
was  already  overfull  with  the  immediate  entourage  of  the 
King.  But  Bobby  had  never  met  either  the  Comte  or  Crystal 
again. 

He  had  crossed  over  to  England  almost  directly  after  that 
final  and  fateful  interview  with  them :  he  had  obtained  his 
commission  and  was  back  again  in  Belgium — ^as  a  fighting 
man,  ready  for  the  work  which  was  expected  from  Britain's 
sons  by  the  whole  of  Europe  now. 

And  to-night  he  saw  her  again.  His  instinct,  intuition, 
prescience,  what  you  will,  had  told  him  that  he  would  meet 
hei  here — and  to  his  weary  eyes,  when  first  he  caught  sight 
of  her  across  the  crowded  room,  she  had  never  seemed  more 
exquisite,  nor  more  desirable.  She  was  dressed  all  in  white, 
with  arms  and  shoulders  bare,  her  fair  hair  dressed  in  the 
quaint  mode  of  the  moment  with  a  high  comb  and  a  multi- 
plicity of  curls.  She  had  a  bunch  of  white  roses  in  her 
belt  and  carried  a  shawl  of  gossamer  lace  that  encircled  her 
shoulders,  like  a  diaphanous  cobweb,  through  which  gleamed 
the  shimmering  whiteness  of  her  skin. 

She  did  not  see  him  of  course:  he  was  only  one  of  so 
many  in  a  crowd  of  English  officers  who  were  about  to  fight 
and  to  die  for  her  country  and  her  cause  as  much  as  for 
their  own.  But  to  him  she  was  the  only  living,  breathing 
person  in  the  room — all  the  others  were  phantoms  or  pup- 
pets that  had  no  tangible  existence  for  him  save  as  a  setting, 
a  background  for  her. 

And  poor  Bobby  would  so  gladly  have  thrown  all  pride 
to  the  winds  for  the  right  to  run  straight  to  her  across  the 
width  of  the  room,  to  fall  at  her  feet,  to  encircle  her  knees, 
and  to  wring  from  her  a  word  of  comfort  or  of  trust. 
So  strong  was  this  impulse,  that  for  one  moment  it  seemed 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       267 

absolutely  irresistible ;  but  the  next  she  had  turned  to  Mau- 
rice de  St.  Genis,  who  was  never  absent  from  her  side,  and 
who  seemed  to  hover  over  her  with  an  air  of  proprietor- 
ship and  of  triumphant  mastery  which  caused  poor  Bobby 
to  grind  his  heel  into  the  oak  floor,  and  to  smother  a  bitter 
curse  which  had  risen  insistent  to  his  lips. 

Ill 

Madame  la  Duchesse  d'Agen  spoke  to  him  once,  while  he 
stood  by  watching  Crystal's  dainty  form  walking  through 
the  mazes  of  a  ciuadrille  with  her  hand  in  that  of  St.  Genis. 

"They  look  well  matched,  do  they  not,  Mr.  Clyffurde?" 
Madame  said  in  broken  English  and  with  something  of  her 
usual  tartness;  "and  you?  are  you  not  going  to  recognise 
old  friends,  may  I  ask?" 

He  turned  abruptly,  whilst  the  hot  blood  rushed  up  to  his 
cheek,  so  sudden  had  been  the  wave  of  memory  which 
flooded  his  brain,  at  the  sound  of  Madame's  sharp  voice. 
Now  he  stooped  and  kissed  the  slender  little  hand  which  was 
being  so  cordially  held  out  to  him. 

"Old  friends,  Madame  la  Duchesse?"  he  queried  with  a 
quick  sigh  of  bitterness.  "Nay!  you  forget  that  it  was  as  a 
traitor  and  a  liar  that  you  knew  me  last." 

"It  was  as  a  young  fool  that  I  knew  you  all  the  time," 
she  retorted  tartly,  even  though  a  kindly  look  and  a  kmdly 
smile  tempered  the  gruffness  of  her  sally.  "The  male  crea- 
ture, my  dear  Mr.  Clyffurde,"  she  added,  "was  intended 
by  God  and  by  nature  to  be  a  selfish  beast.  When  he  ceases 
to  think  of  himself,  he  loses  his  bearings,  flounders  m  a 
quagmire  of  unprofitable  heroism  which  benefits  no  one, 
and  generally  behaves  like  a  fool." 

"Did  I  do  all  that?"  asked  Clyffurde  with  a  smile. 

"All  of  it  and  more.  And  look  at  the  muddle  you  have 
made  of  things.  Crystal  has  never  got  over  that  miserably 
aborted  engagement  of  hers  to  de  Marmont,  and  is  no  hap- 


268  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

pier  now  with  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  than  she  would  have 
been  with  .  .  .  well!  with  anybody  else  who  had  had  the 
good  sense  to  woo  and  win  her  in  a  straightforward,  proper 
and  selfish  masculine  way." 

"Mademoiselle  de  Cambray,  I  understand,"  rejoined 
Clyffurde  stiffly,  "is  formally  affianced  now  to  M.  de  St. 
Genis." 

"She  is  not  formally  affianced,  as  you  so  pedantically 
and  affectedly  put  it,  my  friend,"  replied  Madame  with  her 
accustomed  acerbity.  "But  she  probably  will  marry  him, 
if  he  comes  out  of  this  abominable  war  alive,  and  if  the 
King  of  France  .  .  .  whom  may  God  protect — comes  into 
his  own  again.  For  His  Majesty  has  taken  those  two  young 
jackanapes  under  his  most  gracious  protection,  and  has 
promised  Maurice  a  lucrative  appointment  at  his  court — if 
he  ever  has  a  court  again." 

"Then  Mademoiselle  de  Cambray  must  be  very  happy, 
for  which — if  I  dare  say  so — I  am  heartily  rejoiced." 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  Duchesse  drily,  "but  let  me  at  the 
same  time  tell  you  this :  I  have  always  known  that  English- 
men were  peculiarly  idiotic  in  certain  important  matters  of 
life,  but  I  must  say  that  I  had  no  idea  idiocy  could  reach 
the  boundless  proportions  which  it  has  done  in  your  case. 
Well!"  she  added  with  sudden  gentleness,  "farewell  for  the 
present,  mon  preux  chevalier :  it  is  not  too  late,  remember, 
to  bear  in  mind  certain  old  axioms  both  of  chivalry  and  of 
commonsense — the  most  obvious  of  which  is  that  nothing 
is  gained  by  sitting  open-mouthed,  whilst  some  one  else  gets 
the  largest  helpings  at  supper.  And  if  it  is  any  comfort  to 
you  to  know  that  I  never  believed  St.  Genis'  story  of  lonely 
inns,  of  murderous  banditti  and  whatnots,  well  then,  I  give 
you  that  information  for  what  you  may  choose  to  make 
of  it." 

And  with  a  final  friendly  nod  and  a  gentle  pressure  of 
her  aristocratic  hand  on  his,  which  warmed  and  comforted 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       269 

Bobby's  sore  heart,  she  turned  away  from  him  and  was 
quickly  swallowed  up  by  the  crowd. 


IV 


In  spite  of  rain  and  blustering  wind  outside  the  fine  ball- 
room— as  the  evening  progressed — became  unpleasantly  hot. 
Dancing  was  in  full  swing  and  the  orchestra  had  just  struck 
up  the  first  strains  of  that  inspiriting  new  dance — the  latest 
importation  from  Vienna — a  dreamy  waltz  of  which  dow- 
agers strongly  disapproved,  deeming  it  licentious,  indecent, 
and  certainly  ungraceful,  but  which  the  young  folk  delighted 
in,  and  persisted  in  dancing,  defying  the  mammas  and  all 
the  proprieties. 

Maurice  de  St.  Genis  after  the  last  quadrille  had  led  Crys- 
tal away  from  the  ballroom  to  a  small  boudoir  adjoining 
it,  where  the  cool  air  from  outside  fanned  the  curtains  and 
hangings  and  stirred  the  leaves  and  petals  of  a  bank  of  roses 
that  formed  a  background  to  a  couple  of  seats — obviously 
arranged  for  the  convenience  of  two  persons  who  desired 
quiet  conversation  w^ll  away  from  prying  eyes  and  ears. 

Here  Crystal  had  been  sitting  with  Maurice  for  the  past 
quarter  of  an  hour,  while  from  the  ballroom  close  by  came 
as  in  a  dream  to  her  the  gentle  lilt  of  the  waltz,  and  from 
behind  her,  a  cluster  of  sweet-scented  crimson  roses  filled 
the  air  with  their  fragrance.  Crystal  didn't  feel  that  she 
wanted  to  talk,  only  to  sit  here  quietly  with  the  sound  of 
the  music  in  her  ears  and  the  scent  of  roses  in  her  nostrils. 
Maurice  sat  beside  her,  but  he  did  not  hold  her  hand.  He 
was  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  he 
talked  much  and  earnestly,  the  while  she  listened  half  ab- 
sently, like  one  in  a  dream. 

She  had  often  heard,  in  the  olden  days  in  England,  her 
aunt  speak  of  the  strange  doings  of  that  Doctor  Mesmer  m 
Paris  who  had  even  involved  proud  Marie  Antoinette  in  an 
unpleasant  scandal  with  his  weird  incantations  and  wizard- 


270  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

like  acts,  whereby  people — sensible  women  and  men — were 
sent  at  his  will  into  a  curious  torpor,  which  was  neither 
sleep  not  yet  wakefulness,  and  which  produced  a  yet  more 
strange  sense  of  unreality  and  dreaminess,  and  visions  of 
things  unsubstantial  and  unearthly. 

And  sitting  here  surrounded  with  roses  and  with  that 
languorous  lilt  in  her  ear.  Crystal  felt  as  if  she  too  were 
under  the  influence  of  some  unseen  Mesmer,  who  had 
lulled  the  activity  of  her  brain  into  a  kind  of  wakeful  sleep 
even  while  her  senses  remained  keenly,  vitally  on  the  alert. 
She  knew,  for  instance,  that  Maurice  spoke  of  the  coming 
struggle,  the  final  fight  for  King  and  country.  He  had 
been  enrolled  in  a  Nassau  regiment,  under  the  command  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange:  he  expected  to  be  in  the  thick  of 
a  fight  to-morrow.  ''Bonaparte  never  waits,"  Crystal  heard 
him  say  quite  distinctly,  "he  is  always  ready  to  attack.  Au- 
dacity and  a  bold  use  of  his  artillery  were  always  his  most 
effectual  weapons." 

And  he  went  on  to  tell  her  of  his  own  plans,  his  future, 
his  hopes:  he  spoke  of  the  possibility  of  death  and  of  this 
being  a  last  farewell.  Crystal  tried  to  follow  him,  tried  to 
respond  when  he  spoke  of  his  love  for  her — a  love,  the 
strength  of  which — he  said — she  would  never  be  able  to 
gauge. 

"If  it  were  not  for  the  strength  of  my  love  for  you, 
Crystal,"  he  said  almost  fiercely,  "I  could  not  bear  to  face 
possible  death  to-morrow  .  .  .  not  without  telling  you  .  .  . 
not  without  making  reparation  for  my  sin." 

And  still  in  that  curious  trance-like  sense  of  aloofness. 
Crystal  murmured  vaguely : 

"Sin,  Maurice?    What  sin  do  you  mean?" 

But  he  did  not  seem  to  give  her  a  direct  reply :  he  spoke 
once  more  only  of  his  love.  "Love  atones  for  all  sins!" 
he  reiterated  once  or  twice  with  passionate  earnestness. 
"Even  God  puts  Love  above  everything  on  earth.     Love 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       271 

is  an  excuse  for  everything.  Love  justifies  everything. 
Such  love  as  I  have  for  you,  Crystal,  makes  everything  else 
— even  sin,  even  cowardice — seem  insignificant  and  mean- 
ingless." 

She  agreed  with  what  he  said,  for  indeed  she  felt  too  tired 
to  argue  the  point,  or  even  to  get  his  sophistry  into  her  head. 
Strangely  enough  she  felt  out  of  tune  with  him  to-night — 
with  him — Maurice — the  lover  of  her  girlhood,  the  man 
from  whom  she  had  parted  with  such  desperate  heartache 
three  months  ago,  in  the  avenue  at  Brestalou.  Then  it  had 
seemed  as  if  the  world  could  never  hold  any  happiness  for 
her  again,  once  Maurice  had  gone  out  of  her  life.  Now  he 
had  come  back  into  it.  Chance  and  the  favour  of  the  King 
had  once  more  made  a  future  happy  union  with  him  pos- 
sible. She  ought  to  have  been  supremely  happy,  yet  she  was 
out  of  tune.  His  passionate  words  of  love  found  only  a 
cold  response  in  her  heart. 

For  the  past  three  months  she  had  constantly  been  at  war 
with  her  own  self  for  this:  she  hated  and  despised  herself 
for  that  numbness  of  the  heart  which  had  so  unaccountably 
taken  all  the  zest  and  the  joy  out  of  her  life.  Does  one  love 
one  day  and  become  indifferent  the  next  ?  What  had  become 
of  the  girlish  love  that  had  invested  Maurice  de  St.  Genis 
with  the  attributes  of  a  hero?  What  had  he  done  that  the 
pedestal  on  which  her  ideality  had  hoisted  him  should  have 
proved  of  such  brittle  clay  ? 

He  was  still  the  gallant,  high-born,  well-bred  gentleman 
whom  she  had  always  known ;  he  was  on  the  eve  of  fighting 
for  his  King  and  country,  ready  to  give  his  life  for  the 
same  cause  which  she  loved  so  ardently;  he  was  even  now 
speaking  tender  words  of  love  and  of  farewell.  Yet  she  was 
out  of  tune  with  him.  His  words  of  Love  almost  irritated 
her,  for  they  dragged  her  out  of  that  delicious  dream-like 
torpor  which  momentarily  peopled  the  world  for  her  with 
gold-headed,  white-winged  mysterious  angels,  and  filled  the 


272  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

air  with  soft  murmurings  and  sweet  sounds,  and  a  divine 
fragrance  that  was  not  of  this  earth. 

It  must  have  been  that  she  grew  very  sleepy — probably 
the  heat  weighed  her  eyelids  down — certainly  she  found  it 
impossible  to  keep  her  eyes  open,  and  Maurice  apparently 
thought  that  she  felt  faint.  Always  in  the  same  vague  way 
she  heard  him  making  suggestions  for  her  comfort :  "Could 
he  get  her  some  wine?"  or  "Should  he  try  and  find  Madame 
la  Duchesse?" 

Then  she  realised  how  she  longed  for  a  little  rest,  for 
perfect  solitude,  for  perfect  freedom  to  give  herself  over 
to  the  sweet  torpor  which  paralysed  her  brain  and  limbs — > 
tired,  sleepy,  or  under  the  subtle  influence  of  some  mysteri- 
ous agency — she  did  not  know  which  she  was ;  but  she  did 
know  that  she  would  have  given  everything  she  could  at  this 
moment  for  a  few  minutes'  complete  solitude. 

So  she  contrived  to  smile  and  to  look  up  almost  gaily  into 
Maurice's  anxious  face :  "I  think  really,  Maurice,"  she  said, 
*T  am  just  a  little  bit  sleepy.  If  I  could  remain  alone  for 
five  minutes,  I  would  go  honestly  to  sleep  and  not  be 
ashamed  of  myself.  Could  you  .  .  .  could  you  just  leave 
me  for  five  or  ten  minutes?  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and,  Maurice, 
will  you  draw  that  screen  a  little  nearer?  .  .  ."  she  added, 
affecting  a  little  yawn ;  "nobody  can  see  me  then  .  .  .  and 
really,  really  I  shall  be  all  right  ...  if  I  could  have  a  few 
minutes'  quiet  sleep." 

"You  shall,  Crystal,  of  course  you  shall,"  said  Maurice, 
eager  and  anxious  to  do  all  that  she  wanted.  He  arranged 
a  cushion  behind  her  head,  put  a  footstool  to  her  feet  and 
pulled  the  screen  forward  so  that  now — where  she  sat — no 
one  could  see  her  from  the  ballroom,  and  as  in  response 
to  repeated  encores  from  the  dancers,  the  orchestra  had 
embarked  upon  a  new  waltz,  she  was  not  likely  to  be  dis- 
turbed. 

"I'll  try  and  find  Mme.  la  Duchesse,"  he  said  after  he  had 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       «78 

assured  himself  that  she  was  quite  comfortable,  "and  tell 
her  that  you  are  quite  well,  but  must  not  be  disturbed." 

She  caught  his  hand  and  gave  it  a  little  squeeze. 

"You  are  kind,  Maurice,"  she  murmured. 

She  felt  exactly  like  a  tired  child,  now  that  she  had  been 
made  so  comfortable,  and  she  liked  Maurice  so  much,  oh! 
so  much!  no  brother  could  have  been  dearer. 

"You  won't  go  way  without  waking  me,  Maurice,"  she 
said  as  he  bent  down  to  kiss  her. 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  he  replied;  "it  still  wants  a  quar- 
ter before  ten." 

The  screen  shut  off  all  the  glare  from  the  candles.  The 
sense  of  isolation  was  complete  and  delicious:  the  roses 
smelt  very  sweet,  the  soft  strains  of  the  waltz  sounded  like 
elfin  music. 


Like  elfin  music — tender,  fitful,  dreamy! — an  exquisite 
languor  stole  into  Crystal's  limbs.  She  was  not  asleep, 
yet  she  was  in  dreamland — all  alone  in  semi-darkness,  that 
was  restful  and  soothing,  and  with  the  fragrance  of  crimson 
roses  in  her  nostrils  and  their  velvety  petals  brushing  against 
her  cheek. 

Like  elfin  music! — sweet  strains  of  infinite  sadness — the 
tune  of  the  Infinite  mingling  with  the  semblance  of  reality! 

Like  elfin  music — or  like  the  voice  of  a  human  being  in 
pain — the  note  of  sadness  became  the  only  real  note  now! 

What  really  happened  after  this  Cr>-stal  never  rightly 
knew.  Whenever  in  the  future  her  memory  went  back  to 
this  hour,  she  could  not  be  sure  whether  in  truth  she  had 
been  waking  or  dreaming,  or  at  what  precise  moment  she 
became  fully  conscious  of  a  presence  close  beside  her — just 
behind  the  bank  of  roses— and  of  a  voice— low,  earnest, 
quivering  with  passionate  emotion — that  reached  her  ear 
as  if  through  the  tender  melodies  played  by  the  orchestra. 


274  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

It  almost  seemed  to  her — when  she  thought  over  all  the 
circumstances  in  her  mind — that  she  must  have  been  subtly 
conscious  of  the  presence  all  along — all  the  while  that  Mau- 
rice was  still  with  her  and  she  felt  so  curiously  languid, 
longing  only   for  darkness  and  solitude. 

Something  encompassed  her  now  that  she  could  not 
define:  the  warmth  of  Love,  the  sense  of  protection  and 
security — ^almost  as  if  imseen  arms,  that  were  strong  and 
devoted  and  selfless,  held  her  closely,  shielding  her  from 
evil  and  from  the  taint  of  selfish  human  passions. 

And  presently  she  heard  her  name — ^whispered  low  and 
with  a  note  of  tender  appeal.- 

Her  eyes  were  closed  and  she  paid  no  heed:  but  the 
appeal  was  once  more  whispered — this  time  more  insist- 
ently, and  almost  against  her  will  she  murmured : 

"Who  calls?" 

"An  unfortunate  whom  you  hate  and  despise,  and  who 
would  have  given  his  life  to  serve  you." 

"Who  is  it  ?"  she  reiterated. 

"A  poor  heart-broken  wretch  who  could  not  keep  away 
from  your  side,  and  longed  for  one  more  sound  of  your 
voice  even  though  it  uttered  words  more  cruel  than  man 
can  stand." 

"What  would  you  like  to  hear?" 

"One  word  of  comfort  to  ease  that  terrible  sting  of 
hate  which  has  burned  into  my  very  soul,  till  every  minute 
of  life  has  become  unendurable  agony." 

"How  could  I  know,"  she  asked,  and  now  her  eyes  were 
wide  open,  gazing  out  into  nothingness,  not  turned  yet  in 
the  direction  whence  that  dream-voice  came :  "how  could 
I  know  that  my  hatred  made  you  suffer  or  that  you  cared 
for  comfort  from  me?" 

"How  could  you  know.  Crystal  ?"  the  voice  replied.  "You 
could  know  that,  my  dear,  just  as  surely  as  you  know  that 
in  a  stormy  night  the  sky  is  dark,  just  as  you  know  that 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT        276 

when  heavy  clouds  obscure  the  blue  ether  above,  no  ray  of 
sunshine  warms  the  shivering  earth.  Just  as  you  know 
that  you  are  beautiful  and  exquisite,  so  you  knew,  Crystal, 
that  I  loved  you  from  the  deepest  depths  of  my  soul." 

"How  could  I  guess?" 

"By  that  subtle  sense  which  every  human  being  has.  And 
you  did  guess  it,  Crystal,  else  you  would  not  have  hated 
me  as  you  did." 

"I  hated  you  because  I  thought  you  a  traitor." 

"Is  it  too  late  to  swear  to  you  that  my  only  thought  was 
to  serve  you?  .  .  ." 

"By  working  against  my  King  and  country?"  she  retorted 
with  just  this  one  brief  flash  of  her  old  vehemence. 

"By  working  for  my  country  and  for  yours.  This  I 
swear  by  your  sweet  eyes — by  your  dear  mouth  that  hurt 
me  so  cruelly  that  evening — I  swear  it  by  the  damnable 
agony  which  you  made  me  endure  ...  by  the  abject  cow- 
ardice which  dragged  me  to  your  side  now  like  a  whining 
wretch  that  craves  for  a  crumb  of  comfort  ...  by  all 
that  you  have  made  me  suffer.  .  .  .  Crystal,  I  swear  to 
you  that  I  was  never  false  .  .  .  false,  great  God!  when 
with  every  drop  of  my  blood,  with  every  fibre  of  my  heart, 
with  every  nerve,  every  sinew,  every  thought  I  love  you." 

The  voice  was  so  low,  never  above  a  whisper,  and  all 
around  her  Crystal  felt  again  that  delicious  sense  of  warmth 
— the  breath  of  Love  that  brings  man's  heart  so  near  to 
God — the  sense  ©f  security  in  a  man's  all-encompassing 
Love  which  women  prize  above  everything  else  on  earth. 

The  music  was  just  an  accompaniment  to  that  low,  ear- 
nest wdiispering;  the  soft  strains  of  the  violins  made  it  still 
seem  like  a  voice  that  comes  through  a  veil  of  dreams.  In- 
stinctively Crystal  began  to  hum  the  waltz-tune  and  her  little 
head  with  its  quaint  coronet  of  fair  curls  beat  time  to  the 
languid  lilt. 

"Will  you  dance  with  me,  Crystal?" 


276  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"No !  no !"  she  protested. 

"Just  once — to-night.  To-morrow  we  fight — let  us  dance 
to-night." 

And  before  she  could  protest  further,  her  will  seemed  to 
fall  away  from  her:  she  knew  that  her  father,  her  aunt 
would  be  angry,  that — ^as  like  as  not — Maurice  would  make 
a  scene.  She  knew  that  Maurice — to  whom  she  had  plighted 
her  troth — had  branded  this  man  as  a  liar  and  a  traitor: 
her  father  believed  him  to  be  a  traitor,  and  she  .  .  . 
Well !  what  had  he  done  to  disprove  Maurice's  accusations  ? 
A  few  words  of  passionate  protestations!  .  .  .  Did  they 
count?  .  .  .  He  wore  his  King's  uniform — many  careless 
adventurers  did  that  these  strenuous  times !  .  .  . 

And  he  wanted  her  to  dance  .  .  .  !  how  could  she — Crys- 
tal de  Cambray,  the  future  wife  of  the  Marquis  de  St.  Genis, 
the  cynosure  of  a  great  many  eyes  to-night — how  could  she 
show  herself  in  public  on  his  arm,  in  a  crowded  ball- 
room? 

Yet  she  could  not  refuse.  She  could  not.  Surely  it  was 
all  a  dream,  and  in  a  dream  man  is  but  the  slave  of  circum- 
stance and  has  no  will  of  his  own. 

She  was  very  young  and  loved  to  dance:  and  she  had 
heard  that  Englishmen  danced  well.  Besides,  it  was  all  a 
dream.  She  would  wake  in  a  moment  or  two  and  find  her- 
self sitting  quietly  among  the  roses  with  Maurice  beside  her, 
telling  her  of  his  love,  and  of  their  happy  future  together. 

VI 

But  in  the  meanwhile  the  dream  was  lasting.  Her  partner 
was  a  perfect  dancer,  and  this  new,  delicious  waltz — in- 
spiriting yet  languorous,  rhythmical  and  half  barbaric — sent 
a  keen  feeling  of  joy  and  of  zest  into  Crystal's  whole  being. 

She  was  not  conscious  of  the  many  stares  that  were 
levelled  at  her  as  she  suddenly  appeared  among  the  crowd 
in  the  ballroom,  her  face  flushed  with  excitement,  her  per- 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       277 

feet  figure  moving  with  exquisite  grace  to  the  measure  of 
the  dance. 

The  last  dance  together ! 

A  few  moments  before,  Clyffurde  had  made  his  way  to 
the  small  boudoir  in  search  of  fresh  air,  and  had  withdrawn 
to  a  window  embrasure  away  from  a  throng  that  maddened 
him  in  his  misery  of  loneliness :  then  he  realised  that  Crystal 
was  sitting  quite  close  to  him,  that  St.  Genis,  who  had  been 
in  constant  attendance  on  her,  presently  left  her  to  herself 
and  that  without  even  moving  from  where  he  was  he  could 
whisper  into  her  ear  that  which  had  lain  so  heavily  on  his 
heart  that  at  times  he  had  felt  that  it  must  break  under  the 
intolerable  load. 

Then  as  the  soft  strains  of  the  music  from  the  orchestra 
struck  upon  his  ear,  the  insistent  whim  seized  him  to  make 
her  dance  with  him,  just  once — to-night.  To-morrow  the 
cannon  would  roar  once  more — to-morrow  Europe  would 
make  yet  another  stand  against  the  bold  adventurer  whom 
seemingly  nothing  could  crush.  ' 

To-morrow  a  bullet — a  bayonet — a  sword-thrust— but  to- 
night a  last  dance  together. 

Those  whims  come  at  times  to  those  who  are  doomed  to 
die.  Clyffurde's  one  hope  of  peace  lay  in  death  upon  the 
battlefield.  Life  was  empty  now.  He  had  fought  against 
the  burden  of  loneliness  left  upon  him  when  Crystal  passed 
finally  out  of  his  life.  But  the  burden  had  proved  uncon- 
querable. Only  death  could  ease  him  of  the  load:  for  life 
like  this  was  stupid  and  intolerable. 

Men  would  die  within  the  next  few  days  in  their  hun- 
dreds and  in  their  thousands:  men  who  were  happy,  who 
had  wives  and  children,  men  on  whose  lives  Love  shed  its 
happy  radiance.  Then  why  not  he?  who  was  more  lonely 
than  any  man  on  earth— left  lonely  because  the  one  woman 
who  filled  all  the  world  for  him,  hated  him  and  was  gone 
from  him  for  ever. 


278  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

But  a  last  dance  with  her  to-night!  The  right  to  hold 
her  in  his  arms !  this  he  had  never  done,  though  his  muscles 
had  often  ached  with  the  longing  to  hold  her.  But  dancing 
with  her  he  could  feel  her  against  him,  clasp  her  closely, 
feel  her  breath  against  his  cheek. 

She  was  not  very  tall  and  her  head — ^had  she  chosen — 
could  just  have  rested  in  the  hollow  of  his  shoulder. 
The  thought  of  it  sent  the  blood  rushing  hotly  to  his  head 
and  with  his  two  strong  hands  he  would  at  that  moment 
have  bent  a  bar  of  iron,  or  smashed  something  to  atoms, 
in  order  to  crush  that  longing  to  curse  against  Fate,  against 
his  destiny  that  had  so  wantonly  dangled  happiness  before 
him,  only  to  thrust  him  into  utter  loneliness  again. 

Then  he  spoke  to  her — and  finally  asked  for  the  dance. 

And  now  he  held  her,  and  guided  her  through  the  throng, 
her  tiny  feet  moving  in  unison  with  his.  And  all  the  world 
had  vanished :  he  had  her  to  himself,  for  these  few  happy 
moments  he  could  hold  her  and  refuse  to  let  her  go.  He 
did  not  care — nor  did  she — that  many  curious  and  some 
angry  glances  followed  their  every  movement.  Till  the 
last  bar  was  played,  till  the  final  chord  was  struck  she  was 
absolutely  his — for  she  had  given  up  her  will  to  him. 

The  last  dance  together !  He  sent  his  heart  to  her,  all  his 
heart — and  the  music  helped  him,  and  the  rhythm ;  the  very 
atmosphere  of  the  room — rose-scented — Whelped  him  to  make 
her  understand.  He  could  have  kissed  her  hair,  so  close 
were  the  heaped-up  fair  curls  to  his  mouth ;  he  could  have 
whispered  to  her,  and  nobody  would  hear:  he  could  have 
told  her  something  at  any  rate,  of  that  love  which  had  filled 
his  heart  since  all  time,  not  months  or  years  since  he  had 
known  her,  but  since  all  time  filling  every  minute  of  his  life. 
He  could  have  taught  her  what  love  meant,  thrilled  her  heart 
with  thoughts  of  might-have-been;  he  could  have  roused 
sweet  pity  in  her  soul,  love's  gentle  mother  that  has  the 
power  to  give  birth  to  Love. 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       279 

But  he  did  not  kiss  her,  nor  did  he  speak :  because  though 
he  was  quite  sure  that  she  would  understand,  he  was  equally 
sure  that  she  could  not  respond.  She  was  not  his — ^not  his 
in  the  world  of  realities,  at  any  rate.  Her  heart  belonged 
to  the  friend  of  her  childhood,  the  only  man  whom  she 
would  ever  love — the  man  by  whom  he — poor  Bobby! — 
had  been  content  to  be  defamed  and  vilified  in  order  that 
she  should  remain  happy  in  her  ideals  and  in  her  choice. 
So  he  was  content  only  to  hold  her,  his  arm  round  her  waist, 
one  hand  holding  hers  imprisoned — she  herself  becoming 
more  and  more  the  creature  of  his  dreams,  the  angel  that 
haunted  him  in  wakefulness  and  in  sleep:  immortally  his 
bride,  yet  never  to  be  wholly  his  again  as  she  was  now  in 
this  heavenly  moment  where  they  stood  together  within  the 
pale  of  eternity. 

In  this,  their  last  dance  together! 

VII 

Far  into  the  night,  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning, 
Crystal  de  Cambray  sat  by  the  open  window  of  her  tiny 
bedroom  in  the  small  apartment  which  her  father  had  taken 
for  himself  and  his  family  in  the  rue  du  Marais. 

She  sat,  with  one  elbow  resting  on  the  window-sill,  her 
right  hand  fingering,  with  nervy,  febrile  movements,  a  letter 
which  she  held.  Jeanne  had  handed  it  to  her  when  she 
came  home  from  the  ball:  M.  de  St.  Genis,  Jeanne  ex- 
plained, had  given  it  to  her  earlier  in  the  evening  .  .  .  soon 
after  ten  o'clock  it  must  have  been  .  .  .  M.  le  Marquis 
seemed  in  a  great  hurry,  but  he  made  Jeanne  swear  most 
solemnly  that  Mademoiselle  Crystal  should  have  the  letter  as 
soon  as  she  came  home  .  .  .  also  M.  le  Marquis  had  in- 
sisted that  the  letter  should  be  given  to  Mademoiselle  when 
she  was  alone. 

Not  a  little  puzzled— for  had  she  not  taken  ^^nd  leave 
of  Maurice  shortly  before  ten  o'clock,  when  he  had  told 


280  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

her  that  his  orders  were  to  quit  the  ball  then  and  report 
himself  at  once  at  headquarters.  He  had  seemed  very  de- 
spondent, Crystal  thought,  and  the  words  which  he  spoke 
when  finally  he  kissed  her,  had  in  them  all  the  sadness  of  a 
last  farewell.  Crystal  even  had  felt  a  tinge  of  remorse — 
when  she  saw  how  sad  he  was — ^that  she  had  not  desponded 
more  warmly  to  his  kiss.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  her  heart 
rebelled  against  it,  and  when  he  pressed  her  with  his  accus- 
tomed passionate  ardour  to  his  breast,  she  had  felt  a  curious 
shrinking  within  herself,  a  desire  to  push  him  away,  even 
though  her  whole  heart  went  out  to  him  with  pity  and 
with  sorrow. 

And  now  here  was  this  letter.  Crystal  was  a  long  time 
before  she  made  up  her  mind  to  open  it :  the  paper — damp 
with  the  rain — seemed  to  hold  a  certain  fatefulness  within 
its  folds.  At  last  she  read  the  letter,  and  long  after  she  had 
read  it  she  sat  at  the  open  window,  listening  to  the  dreary, 
monotonous  patter  of  the  rain,  and  to  the  distant  sounds  of 
moving  horses  and  men,  the  rattle  of  wheels,  the  bugle  calls, 
the  departure  of  the  allied  troops  to  meet  the  armies  of  the 
great  adventurer  on  the  billowing  plains  of  Belgium. 

This  is  what  Maurice  had  written  to  her  a  few  moments 
before  he  left ;  and  it  must  have  taken  him  some  time  to  pen 
the  lengthy  epistle. 

"My  beautiful  Crystal, 
"I  may  never  come  back.  Something  tells  me  that  my  life, 
such  as  it  is — empty  and  worthless  enough,  God  knows — has 
nearly  run  its  full  course.  But  if  I  do  come  back  to  claim  the 
happiness  which  your  love  holds  out  for  me, — I  will  not  face  you 
again  with  so  deep  a  stain  upon  mine  honour.  I  did  not  tell 
you  before  because  I  was  too  great  a  coward.  I  could  not  bear 
to  think  that  you  would  despise  me — I  could  not  encounter  the 
look  of  contempt  in  your  eyes:  so  I  remained  silent  to  the  call 
of  honour.  And  now  I  speak  because  the  next  few  hours  will 
atone  for  everything.     If  I  come  back  you  will  forgive.     If  I 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       281 

fall  you  will  mourn.  In  either  case  I  shall  be  happy  that  you 
know.  Crystal !  in  all  my  life  I  spoke  only  one  lie,  and  that  was 
three  months  ago.  when  I  set  out  to  reclaim  the  King's  money, 
which  had  been  filched  from  you  on  the  high  road,  and  returned 
empty-handed.  I  found  the  money  and  I  found  the  thief.  No 
thief  he,  Crystal,  but  just  a  quixotic  man,  who  desired  to  serve  his 
country,  our  cause  and  you.  That  man  was  your  friend  Mr. 
Clyffurde.  I  don't  think  that  I  was  ever  jealous  of  him.  I  am 
not  jealous  of  him  now.  Our  love,  Crystal,  is  too  great  and 
too  strong  to  fear  rivalry  from  anyone.  He  had  taken  the  money 
from  you  because  he  knew  that  Victor  de  Marmont,  with  a 
strong  body  of  men  to  help  him,  would  have  filched  it  from  you 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Corsican.  He  took  the  money  from  you 
because  he  knew  that  neither  you  nor  the  Comte  would  have 
listened  to  any  warnings  from  him.  He  took  the  money  from 
you  with  the  sole  purpose  of  conveying  it  to  the  King.  Then  I 
found  him  and  taunted  him,  until  the  temptation  came  to  me  to 
act  the  part  of  a  coward  and  a  traitor.  And  this  I  did,  Crystal, 
only  because  I  loved  you — because  I  knew  that  I  could  never  win 
you  while  I  was  poor  and  in  humble  circumstances.  I  soon  found 
out  that  Clyffurde  was  a  friend.  I  begged  him  to  let  me  have 
the  money  so  that  I  might  take  it  to  the  King  and  earn  considera- 
tion and  a  reward  thereby.  That  was  my  sin,  Crystal,  and  also 
that  I  lied  to  you  to  disguise  the  sorry  role  which  I  had  played. 
Clyffurde  gave  me  the  money  because  I  told  him  how  we  loved 
one  another — ^you  and  I — and  that  happiness  could  only  come  to 
you  through  our  mutual  love.  He  acted  well,  though  in  truth  I 
meant  to  do  him  no  wrong.  Later  Victor  de  Marmont  came 
upon  me,  and  wrested  the  money  from  me,  and  I  was  helpless  to 
guard  that  for  which  I  had  played  the  part  of  a  coward. 

"I  have  eased  my  soul  by  telling  you  this,  Crystal,  and  I  know 
that  no  hard  thoughts  of  me  will  dwell  in  your  mind  whilst  I  do 
all  that  a  man  can  do  for  honour.  King  and  countr>'. 

"Remember  that  the  next  few  hours,  perhaps,  will  atone  for 
everything,  and  that  Love  excuses  all  things. 

"Yours  in  love  and  sorrow, 

"Maurice." 


282  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

The  letter,  crumpled  and  damp,  remained  in  Crystal's 
hand  all  the  while  that  she  sat  by  the  open  window,  and  the 
sound  of  moving  horses  and  men  in  the  distance  conjured 
up  before  her  eyes  mental  visions  of  all  that  to-morrow 
might  mean.  The  letter  was  damp  with  her  tears  now,  they 
had  fallen  incessantly  on  the  paper  while  she  re-read  it  a  sec- 
ond time  and  then  re-read  it  again. 

A  quixotic  man !  Maurice  said  airily.  How  little  he  un- 
derstood! How  well  she — Crystal — ^knew  what  had  been 
the  motive  of  that  quixotic  action.  She  had  learned  so  much 
to-night  in  the  mazes  of  a  waltz.  Now,  when  she  closed  her 
eyes,  she  could  still  feel  the  dreamy  motion  with  that  strong 
arm  round  her,  and  she  could  hear  the  sweet,  languid  lilt 
of  the  music,  and  all  the  delicious  elvish  whisperings  that 
reached  her  ear  through  the  monotonous  cadence  of  the 
dance.  Of  what  her  heart  had  felt  then,  she  need  now  no 
longer  be  ashamed :  all  that  should  shame  her  now  were  her 
thoughts  in  the  past,  the  belief  that  the  hand  which  had  held 
hers  on  that  evening — long  ago — in  Brestalou  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  the  hand  of  a  traitor:  that  the  low-toned 
voice  that  spoke  to  her  so  earnestly  of  friendship  then  could 
ever  be  raised  for  the  utterance  of  a  lie. 

Of  such  thoughts  indeed  she  could  be  ashamed,  and  of  her 
cruelty  that  other  night  in  Paris,  when  she  had  made  him 
suffer  so  abominably  through  her  injustice  and  her  con- 
tempt. 

"The  next  few  hours,  perhaps,  will  atone  for  everything," 
Maurice  had  added.  Ah,  well !  perhaps !  But  they  could  not 
erase  the  past;  they  could  not  control  the  more  distant 
future.  Maurice  would  come  back — Crystal  prayed  ear- 
nestly that  he  should — but  Clyffurde  was  gone  out  of  her 
life  for  ever.  God  alone  knew  how  this  renewed  war 
would  end!  How  could  she  hope  ever  to  meet  a  friend 
who  had  gone  away  determined  never  to  see  her  again  ? 

A  last  dance  together!   Well!  they  had  had  it!  and  that 


THE  SOUND  OF  REVELRY  BY  NIGHT       283 

was  the  end.  The  end  of  a  sweet  romance  that  had  had  no 
beginning.  He  had  gone  now,  as  Maurice  had  gone,  as 
all  the  men  had  gone  who  had  listened  to  their  country's 
call,  and  she,  Crystal,  could  not  convey  to  him  even  by 
a  message,  by  a  word,  that  she  understood  all  that  he  had 
done  for  her,  all  that  his  actions  had  meant  of  devotion,  of 
self-effacement,  of  pure  and  tender  Love. 

A  last  dance  together,  and  that  had  been  the  end.  Even 
thoughts  of  him  would  be  forbidden  her  after  this :  for  her 
thoughts  were  no  longer  free  of  him,  her  heart  was  no  longer 
free;  her  promise  belonged  to  Maurice,  but  her  heart,  her 
thoughts  were  no  longer  hers  to  give. 

It  was  all  too  late !  too  late !  the  next  few  hours  might 
atone  for  the  past  but  they  could  not  call  it  back. 

Weary  and  heart-sick  Crystal  crawled  into  bed  when  the 
grey  light  of  dawn  peeped  cold  and  shy  into  her  room.  She 
could  not  sleep,  but  she  lay  quite  still  while  one  by  one  those 
distant  sounds  died  away  in  the  misty  morning.  In  this 
semi-dreamlike  state  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  must  be  able 
to  distinguish  the  sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs  from  among 
a  thousand  others:  it  seemed  as  if  something  in  herself 
must  tell  her  quite  plainly  where  he  was,  what  he  did, 
when  he  got  to  horse,  which  way  he  went.  And  pres- 
ently she  closed  her  eyes  against  the  grey,  monotonous 
light,  and  during  one  brief  moment  she  felt  deliciously 
conscious  of  a  sweet,  protecting  presence  somewhere  near 
her,  of  soft  whisperings  of  fondness  and  of  friendship:  the 
sound  of  a  dream-voice  reached  her  ear  and  once  again  as 
in  the  sweet-scented  alcove  she  felt  herself  murmunng: 
"Who  calls?"  and  once  more  she  heard  the  tender  waihng 
as  of  a  stricken  soul  in  pain :  "A  poor  heart-broken  wretch 
who  could  not  keep  away  from  your  side."         _     ^ 

And  memory-echoes  lingered  round  her,  bringing  back 
every  sound  of  his  mellow  voice,  every  look  in  his  eyes, 
the  touch  of  his  hand— oh!  that  exquisite  touch!— and  his 


284  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

last  words  before  he  asked  her  to  dance :  "With  every  drop 
of  my  blood,  with  every  nerve,  every  sinew,  every  thought 
I  love  you." 

And  her  heart  with  a  long-drawn-out  moan  of  unconquer- 
able sorrow  sent  out  into  the  still  morning  air  its  agonised 
call  in  reply : 

"Come  back,  my  love,  come  back!  I  cannot  live  with- 
out you!  You  have  taught  me  what  Love  is — pure,  self- 
less and  protecting — ^you  cannot  go  from  me  now — you 
cannot.  In  the  name  of  that  Love  which  your  tender 
voice  has  brought  into  being,  come  back  to  me.  Do  not 
leave  me  desolate!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TARPEIAN   ROCK 


Rain,  rain !  all  the  morning !  God's  little  tool — innocent- 
looking  little  tool  enough — for  the  remodelling  of  the  des- 
tinies of  this  world. 

God  chose  to  soak  the  earth  on  that  day — and  the  for- 
midable artillery  that  had  swept  the  plateau  of  Austerlitz, 
the  vales  of  Marengo,  the  cemetery  of  Eylau,  was  rendered 
useless  for  the  time  being  because  up  in  the  inscrutable  king- 
dom of  the  sky  a  cloud  had  chosen  to  burst — or  had  burst 
by  the  will  of  God — and  water  soaked  the  soft,  spongy  soil 
of  Belgium  and  the  wheels  of  artillery  wagons  sank  axle- 
deep  in  the  mud. 

If  only  the  ground  had  been  dry !  if  only  the  great  gambler 
— the  genius,  the  hero,  call  him  what  you  will,  but  the  gam- 
bler for  all  that — if  only  he  had  staked  his  crown,  his  hon- 
our and  that  of  Imperial  France  on  some  other  stake  than 
his  artillery!    If  only  .  .  .    !     But  who  shall  tell ? 

Is  it  indeed  a  cloud-burst  that  changed  the  whole  destinies 
of  Europe?    Ye  materialists,  ye  philosophers!  answer  that. 

Is  it  to  the  rain  that  fell  in  such  torrents  until  close  on 
midday  of  that  stupendous  i8th  of  June,  that  must  be 
ascribed  this  wonderful  and  all-embracing  change  that  came 
over  the  destinies  of  myriads  of  people,  of  entire  nations, 
kingdoms  and  empires?  Rather  is  it  not  because  God  just 
on  that  day  of  all  days  chose  to  show  this  world  of  pig- 
mies—great men,  valiant  heroes,  controlling  genms  and  all- 

285 


286  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

powerful  conquerors — the  entire  extent  of  His  might — so 
far  and  no  further — and  in  order  to  show  it,  He  selected 
that  simple,  seemingly  futile  means  .  .  .  just  a  heavy 
shower  of  rain. 

At  half-past  eleven  the  cannon  began  to  roar  on  the  plains 
of  Mont  Saint  Jean,*  but  not  before.  Before  that  it  had 
rained :  rained  heavily,  and  the  ground  was  soaked  through, 
and  the  all-powerful  artillery  of  the  most  powerful  military 
genius  of  all  times  was  momentarily  powerless. 

Had  it  not  rained  so  persistently  and  so  long  that  same 
compelling  artillery  would  have  begun  its  devastating  work 
earlier  in  the  day — at  six  mayhap,  or  mayhap  at  dawn,  an- 
other five,  six,  seven  hours  to  add  to  the  length  of  that 
awful  day:  another  five,  six,  seven  hours  wherein  to  tax 
the  tenacity,  the  heroic  persistence  of  the  British  troops :  an- 
other five,  six,  seven  hours  of  dogged  resistance  on  the  one 
side,  of  impetuous  charges  on  the  other,  before  the  arrival 
of  Bliicher  and  his  Prussians  and  the  turning  of  the  scales  of 
blind  Justice  against  the  daring  gambler  who  had  staked 
his  all. 

But  it  was  only  at  half-past  eleven  that  the  cannon  began 
to  roar,  and  the  undulating  plain  carried  the  echo  like  a 
thunder-roll  from  heaving  billow  to  heaving  billow  till  it 
broke  against  the  silent  majesty  of  the  forest  of  Soigne. 

Here  with  the  forest  as  a  background  is  the  highest  point 
of  Mont  Saint  Jean :  and  here  beneath  an  overhanging  elm 
— all  day  on  horseback — anxious,  frigid  and  heroic,  is  W^ell- 
ington — with  a  rain  of  bullets  all  round  him,  watching, 
ceaselessly  watching  that  horizon  far  away,  wrapped  now 
in  fog,  anon  in  smoke  and  soon  in  gathering  darkness: 
watching  for  the  promised  Prussian  army  that  was  to  ease 
the  terrible  burden  of  that  desperate  stand  which  the  Brit- 
ish troops  were  bearing  and  had  borne  all  day  with  such 
unflinching  courage  and  dogged  tenacity. 
*i.e.  Waterloo. 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  287 

It  is  in  vain  that  his  aides-de-camp  beg  him  to  move 
away  from  that  perilous  position. 

''My  lord,"  cries  Lord  Hill  at  last  in  desperation,  "if  you 
are  killed,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"The  same  as  I  do  now,"  replies  Wellington  unmoved, 
"hold  this  place  to  the  last  man." 

Then  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  vehemence,  that  seems 
to  pierce  almost  involuntarily  the  rigid  armour  of  British 
phlegm  and  British  self-control,  he  calls  to  his  old  comrades 
of  Salamanca  and  Vittoria: 

"Boys,  which  of  us  now  can  think  of  retreating?  What 
would  England  think  of  us,  if  we  do  ?" 

Heroic,  unflinching  and  cool  the  British  army  has  held 
its  ground  against  the  overwhelming  power  of  Napoleon's 
magnificent  cavalry.  Raw  recruits  some  of  them,  against 
the  veterans  of  Jena  and  of  Wagram!  But  they  have  been 
ordered  to  hold  the  place  to  the  last  man,  and  in  close  and 
serried  squares  they  have  held  their  ground  ever  since  half- 
past  eleven  this  morning,  while  one  after  another  the  flower 
of  Napoleon's  world- famed  cavalry  had  been  hurled  against 
them. 

Cuirassiers,  chasseurs,  lancers,  up  they  come  to  the  charge, 
like  whirlwinds  up  the  declivities  of  the  plateau.  Like  a 
whirlwind  they  rush  upon  those  stolid,  immovable,  impene- 
trable squares,  attacking  from  every  side,  making  violent, 
obstinate,  desperate  onsets  upon  the  stubborn  angles,  the 
straight,  unshakable  walls  of  red  coats ;  slashing  at  the  bayo- 
nets with  their  swords,  at  crimson  breasts  with  their  lances, 
firing  their  pistols  right  between  those  glowing  eyes,  right 
into  those  firm  jaws  and  set  teeth. 

The  sound  of  bullets  on  breastplates  and  helmets  and 
epaulettes  is  like  a  shower  of  hailstones  upon  a  sheet  of 
metal. 

Twice,  thrice,  nay  more— a  dozen  times— they  return  to 
the  charge,  and  the  plateau  gleams  with  brandished  steel 


a88  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

like  a  thousand  flashes  of  simultaneous  fork-lightning  on 
the  vast  canopy  of  a  stormy  sky. 

From  midday  till  after  four,  a  kind  of  mysterious  haze 
covers  this  field  of  noble  deeds.  Fog  after  the  rain  wraps 
the  gently-billowing  Flemish  ground  in  a  white  semi-trans- 
parent veil — covers  with  impartial  coolness  all  the  mighty 
actions,  the  heroic  charges  and  still  more  heroic  stands,  all 
the  silent  uncomplaining  sufferings,  the  glorious  deaths,  all 
the  courage  and  all  the  endurance. 

Through  the  grey  mists  we  see  a  medley  of  moving  col- 
ours— blue  and  grey  and  scarlet  and  black — of  shakos  and 
sabretaches,  of  English  and  French  and  Hanoverian  and 
Scotch,  of  epaulettes  and  bare  knees;  we  hear  the  sound  of 
carbine  and  artillery  fire,  the  clank  of  swords  and  bayonets, 
the  call  of  bugle  and  trumpet  and  the  wail  of  the  melan- 
choly pibroch :  tunics  and  gold  tassels  and  kilts — a  medley 
of  sounds  and  of  visions! 

We  see  the  attack  on  Hougoumont — ^the  appearance  of 
Billow  on  the  heights  of  Saint  Lambert — the  charge  of  the 
Inniskillings  and  the  Scots  Greys — the  death  of  valiant  Pon- 
sonby.  We  see  Marshal  Ney  Prince  of  Moskowa — the 
bravest  soldier  in  France — we  see  him  everywhere  where 
the  melee  is  thickest,  everywhere  where  danger  is  most  nigh. 
His  magnificent  uniform  torn  to  shreds,  his  gold  lace  tar- 
nished, his  hair  and  whiskers  singed,  his  face  blackened  by 
powder,  indomitable,  unconquered,  superb,  we  hear  him  cry : 
"Where  are  those  British  bullets?  Is  there  not  one  left  for 
me?" 

He  knows — ^none  better ! — that  the  plains  of  Mont  Saint 
Jean  are  the  great  gambling  tables  on  which  the  supreme 
gambler — Napoleon,  once  Emperor  of  the  French  and  mas- 
ter of  half  the  world — ^had  staked  his  all.  "If  we  come  out 
of  this  alive  and  conquered,"  he  cries  to  Heymes,  his  aide- 
de-camp,  "there  will  only  be  the  hangman's  rope  left  for  us 
aU." 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  289 

And  we  see  the  gambler  himself— Napoleon.  Emperor 
still  and  still  certain  of  victory— on  horseback  all  day, 
riding  from  end  to  end  of  his  lines ;  he  is  gayer  than  he  has 
ever  been  before.  At  Marengo  he  was  despondent,  at  Aus- 
terlitz  he  was  troubled :  but  at  Waterloo  he  has  no  doubts. 
The  star  of  his  destiny  has  risen  more  brilliant  than  ever 
before. 

"The  day  of  France's  glory  has  only  just  dawned,"  he 
calls,  and  his  mind  is  full  of  projects— the  triumphant  march 
back  into  Paris — the  Germans  driven  back  to  the  Rhine — 
the  English  to  the  sea. 

His  only  anxiety — ^and  it  is  a  slight  one  still — is  that 
Grouchy  with  his  fresh  troops  is  so  late  in  arriving. 

Still,  the  Prussians  are  late  too,  and  the  British  cannot 
hold  the  place  for  ever. 

II 

At  three  o'clock  the  fog  lifts — the  veil  that  has  wrapped 
so  many  sounds,  such  awful  and  wonderful  visions,  in  a 
kind  of  mystery,  is  lifted  now,  and  it  reveals  .  .  .  what? 
Hougoumont  invested — Brave  Baring  there  with  a  handful 
of  men — English,  German,  Brunswickians — making  a  last 
stand  with  ten  rounds  of  ammunition  left  to  them  per  man, 
and  the  French  engineers  already  battering  in  the  gates  of 
the  enclosing  wall  that  surrounds  the  chateau  and  chapel 
of  Goumont:  the  farm  of  La  Haye  Sainte  taken— Key 
there  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers  and  five  battalions  of 
the  Old  Guard:  and  the  English  lines  on  the  heights  of 
Mont  Saint  Jean  apparently  giving  way. 

We  see  too  a  vast  hecatomb :  glory  and  might  must  claim 
their  many  thousand  victims :  the  dead  and  dying  lie  scat- 
tered like  pawns  upon  an  abandoned  chessboard,  the  humble 
pawns  in  this  huge  and  final  gamble  for  supremacy  and 
power,  for  national  existence  and  for  liberty.  Hougoumont, 
La  Haye  Sainte,  Papelotte  are  sown  with  illustrious  dead 


290  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

— ^but  on  the  plateau  of  Mont  Saint  Jean  the  British  still 
hold  their  ground. 

Wellington  is  still  there  on  the  heights,  with  the  majestic 
trees  of  Soigne  behind  him,  the  stately  canopy  of  the  elm 
above  his  head — more  frigid  than  before,  more  heroic,  but 
also  more  desperately  anxious. 

"Bliicher  or  nightfall,"  he  sighs  as  a  fresh  cavalry  charge 
is  hurled  against  those  indomitable  British  squares.  The 
thirteenth  assault,  and  still  they  stand  or  kneel  on  one  knee, 
those  gallant  British  boys ;  bayonet  in  hand  or  carbine,  they 
fire,  fall  out  and  re-form  again :  shaken,  hustled,  encroached 
on  they  may  be,  but  still  they  stand  and  fire  with  coolness 
and  precision  .  .  .  the  ranks  are  not  broken  yet. 

Officers  ride  up  to  the  field-marshal  to  tell  him  that  the 
situation  has  become  desperate,  their  regiments  decimated, 
their  men  exhausted.  They  ask  for  fresh  orders:  but  ha 
has  only  one  answer  for  them : 

"There  are  no  fresh  orders,  save  to  hold  out  to  the  last 
man." 

And  down  in  the  valley  at  La  Belle  Alliance  is  the  great 
gambler — ^the  man  who  to-day  will  either  be  Emperor  again 
— a  greater,  mightier  monarch  than  even  he  has  ever  been — 
or  who  will  sink  to  a  status  which  perhaps  the  meanest 
of  his  erstwhile  subjects  would  never  envy. 

But  just  now — ^at  four  o'clock — ^when  the  fog  has  lifted 
— he  is  flushed  with  excitement,  exultant  in  the  belief  in 
victory. 

The  English  centre  on  Mont  Saint  Jean  is  giving  way  at 
last,  he  is  told. 

"The  beginning  of  retreat !"  he  cries. 

And  he,  who  had  been  anxious  at  Austerlitz,  despondent 
at  Marengo,  is  gay  and  happy  and  brimming  full  of  hope. 

"De  Marmont,"  he  calls  to  his  faithful  friend,  "De  Mar- 
mont,  go  ride  to  Paris  now ;  tell  them  that  victory  is  ours ! 
No,  no,"  he  adds  excitedly,  "don't  go  all  the  way — ride  to 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  291 

Genappe  and  send  a  messenger  to  Paris  from  there— then 
come  back  to  be  with  us  in  the  hour  of  victory." 

And  Victor  de  Marmont  rides  off  in  order  to  proclaim  to 
the  world  at  large  the  great  victory  which  the  Emperor  has 
won  this  day  over  all  the  armies  of  Europe  banded  and 
coalesced  against  him. 

From  far  away  on  the  road  of  Ohain  has  come  the  first 
rumour  that  Bliicher  and  his  body  of  Prussians  are  nigh — 
still  several  hours'  march  from  Waterloo  but  advancing — 
advancing.  For  hours  Wellington  has  been  watching  for 
them,  until  wearily  he  has  sighed:  "Bliicher  or  nightfall 
alone  can  save  us  from  annihilation  now." 

The  rumour — oh!  it  was  merely  the  whispering  of  the 
wind,  but  still  a  rumour  nevertheless — ^means  fresh  courage 
to  tired,  half-spent  troops.  Even  deeds  of  unparalleled 
heroism  need  the  stimulus  of  renewed  hope  sometimes. 

The  rumour  has  also  come  to  the  ears  of  the  Emperor, 
of  Ney  and  of  all  the  officers  of  the  staff.  They  all  know 
that  those  magnificent  British  troops  whom  they  have 
fought  all  day  must  be  nigh  to  their  final  desperate  ef- 
fort at  last — ^with  naught  left  to  them  but  their  stubborn 
courage  and  that  tenacity  which  has  been  ever  since  the 
wonder  of  the  world. 

They  know,  these  brave  soldiers  of  Napoleon— who  have 
fought  and  admired  the  brave  foe— that  the  ist  and  2nd 
Life  Guards  are  decimated  by  now;  that  entire  British  and 
German  regiments  are  cut  up ;  that  Picton  is  dead,  the  Scots 
Greys  almost  annihilated.  They  know  what  havoc  their 
huge  cavalry  charges  have  made  in  the  magnificent  squares 
of  British  infantry;  they  know  that  heroism  and  tenacity 
and  determination  must  give  way  at  last  before  superior 
numbers,  before  fresh  troops,  before  persistent,  ever-re- 
ncwcQ  3.tt3,cks 

Only  a  few  fresh  troops  and  Ney  declares  that  he  can 


292  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

conquer  the  final  dogged  endurance  of  the  British  troops, 
before  they  in  their  turn  receive  the  support  of  Bliicher  and 
his  Prussians,  or  before  nightfall  gives  them  a  chance  of 
rest. 

So  he  sends  Colonel  Heymes  to  his  Emperor  with  the 
urgent  message :  "More  troops,  I  entreat,  more  troops  and 
I  can  break  the  English  centre  before  the  Prussians  come !" 

None  knew  better  than  he  that  this  was  the  great  hazard 
on  which  the  life  and  honour  of  his  Emperor  had  been 
staked,  that  Imperial  France  was  fighting  hand  to  hand  with 
Great  Britain,  each  for  her  national  existence,  each  for 
supremacy  and  might  and  the  honour  of  her  flag. 

Imperial  France — bold,  daring,  impetuous! 

Great  Britain — tenacious,  firm  and  imi>assive ! 

Wellington  under  the  elm-tree,  calmly  scanning  the  hori- 
zon while  bullets  whiz  past  around  his  head,  and  ordering 
his  troops  to  hold  on  to  the  last  man! 

The  Emperor  on  horseback  under  a  hailstorm  of  shot  and 
shell  and  bullets  riding  from  end  to  end  of  his  lines! 

Ney  and  his  division  of  cuirassiers  and  grenadiers  of  the 
Old  Guard  had  just  obeyed  the  Emperor's  last  orders  which 
had  been  to  take  La  Haye  Sainte  at  all  costs :  and  the  in- 
trepid Marechal  now,  flushed  with  victory,  had  sent  his 
urgent  message  to  Napoleon : 

"More  troops !  and  I  can  yet  break  through  the  English 
centre  before  the  arrival  of  the  Prussians." 

"More  troops  ?"  cried  the  Emperor  in  despair,  "where  am 
I  to  get  them  from?    Am  I  a  creator  of  men?" 

And  from  far  away  the  rumour :  "Blucher  and  the  Prus- 
sians are  nigh!" 

"Stop  that  rumour  from  spreading  to  the  ears  of  our 
men !  In  God's  name  don't  let  them  know  it,"  adjures  Na- 
poleon in  a  message  to  Ney. 

And  he  himself  sends  his  own  staff  officers  to  every  point 
of  the  field  of  battle  to  shout  and  proclaim  the  news  that  it 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  293 

is   Grouchy   who   is   nigh,   Grouchy  with   reinforcements, 

Grouchy  with  the  victorious  troops  from  Ligny,  fresh  from 

conquered  laurels! 

And  the  news  gives  fresh  heart  to  the  Imperial  troops : 
"Vive  I'Empereur!"  they  shout,  more  certain  than  ever 

of  victory. 

m 

The  grey  day  has  yielded  at  last  to  the  kiss  of  the  sun. 

•  Far  away  at  Braine  I'Alleud  a  vivid  streak  of  gold  has  rent 

the  bank  of  heavy  clouds.    It  is  now  close  on  seven  o'clock 

— there  are  two  more  hours  to  nightfall  and  Bliicher  is 

not  yet  here. 

Some  of  the  Prussians  have  certainly  debouched  on 
Plancenoit,  but  Napoleon's  Old  Guard  have  turned  them  out 
again,  and  from  Limale  now  comes  the  sound  of  heavy  can- 
nonade as  if  Grouchy  had  come  upon  Bliicher  after  all  and 
all  hopes  of  reinforcements  for  the  British  troops  were 
finally  at  an  end. 

Napoleon — Emperor  still  and  still  flushed  with  victory 
— looks  through  his  glasses  on  the  British  lines :  to  him  it 
seems  that  these  are  shaken,  that  Wellington  is  fighting 
with  the  last  of  his  men.  This  is  the  hour  then  when  victory 
waits — attentive,  ready  to  bestow  her  crown  on  him  who 
can  hold  out  and  fight  the  longest— on  him  who  at  the  last 
can  deliver  the  irresistible  attack. 

And  Napoleon  gives  the  order  for  the  final  attack,  which 
must  be  more  formidable,  more  overpowering  than  any  that 
have  gone  before.  The  plateau  of  Mont  Saint  Jean,  he 
commands,  must  be  carried  at  all  costs! 

Cuirassiers,  lancers  and  grenadiers,  then,  once  more  to 
the  charge !  strew  once  more  the  plains  of  Waterloo  with 
your  dying  and  your  dead !    Up,  Milhaud,  with  your  guards 
Poret  with  your  grenadiers!     Michel  with  your  chasseurs. 
Up,  ye  heroes  of  a  dozen  campaigns,  of  a  hundred  victonesl 


294.  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Up,  ye  old  growlers  with  the  fur  bonnets — Napoleon's  in- 
vincible Old  Guard!  With  Ney  himself  to  lead  you!  a  hero 
among  heroes !  the  bravest  where  all  are  brave ! 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  tidal  wave  of  steel  rising  and  surg- 
ing under  the  lash  of  the  gale  ?  So  they  come  now,  those 
cuirassiers  and  lancers  and  chasseurs,  their  helmets,  their 
swords,  their  lances  gleaming  in  the  golden  light  of  the 
sinking  sun;  in  closed  ranks,  stirrup  to  stirrup  they  swoop 
down  into  the  valley,  and  rise  again  scaling  the  muddy 
heights.  Superb  as  on  parade,  with  their  finest  generals  at- 
their  head:  Milhaud,  Hanrion,  Michel,  Mallet!  and  Ney 
between  them  all. 

Splendid  they  are  and  certain  of  victory:  they  gallop 
past  as  if  at  a  revue  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel  opposite 
the  windows  of  the  Tuileries;  all  to  the  repeated  cry  of 
"Vivel'Empereur!" 

And  as  they  gallop  past  the  wounded  and  the  dying  lift 
themselves  up  from  the  blood-stained  earth,  and  raise  their 
feeble  voices  to  join  in  that  triumphant  call:  "Vive  I'Em- 
pereur!"  There's  an  old  veteran  there,  who  fought  at 
Austerlitz  and  at  Jena ;  he  has  three  stripes  upon  his  sleeve, 
but  both  his  legs  are  shattered  and  he  lies  on  the  roadside 
propped  up  against  a  hedge,  and  as  the  superb  cavalry  ride 
proudly  by  he  shouts  lustily :  "Fon\'ard,  comrades !  a  last 
victorious  charge  I    Long  live  the  Emperor !" 

After  that  who  was  to  blame?  Was  human  agency 
to  blame?  Did  Ney — the  finest  cavalry  leader  in  Napoleon's 
magnificent  army,  the  veteran  of  an  hundred  glorious  vic- 
tories— did  he  make  the  one  blunder  of  his  military  career 
by  dividing  his  troops  into  too  many  separate  columns  rather 
than  concentrating  them  for  the  one  all-powerful  attack 
upon  the  British  centres?  Did  he  indeed  mistake  the  way 
and  lead  his  splendid  cavalry  by  round-about  crossways  to 
the  plateau  instead  of  by  the  straight  Brussels  road? 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  295 

Or  did  the  obscure  traitor — over  whom  history  has 
thrown  a  veil  of  mystery — ^betray  this  fresh  advance  against 
the  British  centre  to  Wellington? 

Was  any  man  to  blame  ?  Was  it  not  rather  the  hand  of 
God  that  had  already  fallen  with  almighty  and  divine 
weight  upon  the  ambitious  and  reckless  adventurer? — was 
it  not  the  voice  of  God  that  spoke  to  him  through  the  can- 
non's roar  of  Waterloo :  "So  far  but  no  farther  shalt  thou 
go!  Enough  of  thy  will  and  thy  power  and  thy  ambition! 
— Enough  of  this  scourge  of  bloodshed  and  of  misery 
which  I  have  allowed  thee  to  wield  for  so  long! — ^Enough 
of  devastated  homes,  of  starvation  and  of  poverty!  enough 
of  the  fatherless  and  of  the  widow!" 

And  up  above  on  the  plateau  the  British  troops  hear 
the  thunder  of  thousands  of  horses'  hoofs,  galloping— gal- 
loping to  this  last  charge  which  must  be  irresistible.  And 
sturdy,  wearied  hands,  black  with  powder  and  stained  with 
blood,  grasp  more  firmly  still  the  bayonet,  the  rifle  or  the  car- 
bine, and  they  wait— those  exhausted,  intrepid,  valiant  men! 
they  wait  for  that  thundering  charge,  with  wide-open  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  crest  of  the  hill— they  wait  for  the  charge 
—they  are  ready  for  death— but  they  are  not  prepared 
to  yield. 

Along  the  edge  of  the  plateau  in  a  huge  semicircle  that 
extends  from  Hougoumont  to  the  Brussels  road  the  British 
gunners  wait  for  the  order  to  fire. 

Behind  them  Wellington— eagle-eyed  and  calm,  warned 
by  God— or  by  a  traitor  but  still  by  God-ol  the  coming 
assault  on  his  positions— scours  the  British  lines  from  end 
to  end :  valiant  Maitland  is  there  witi^  his  brigade  of  guards, 
and  Adam  with  his  artillery :  there  are  Vandeleurs  and  Viv- 
ian's cavalry  and  Colin  Halkett's  guards !  heroes  all !  ready  to 
die  and  hearing  the  approach  of  Death  in  that  distant  roar  ot 
thunder— the  onrush  of  Napoleon's  invincible  cavalry. 

Here,  too,  further  out  toward  the  east  and  the  west,  ex- 


296  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

tending  the  British  lines  as  far  as  Nivelles  on  one  side  and 
Brussels  on  the  other,  are  William  Halkett's  Hanoverians, 
Duplat's  German  brigade,  the  Dutch  and  the  Belgians,  the 
Brunswickers,  and  Ompteda's  decimated  corps.  The  French 
royalists  are  here  too,  scattered  among  the  foreign  troops 
— brother  prepared  to  fight  brother  to  the  death !  St,  Genis 
is  among  the  Brunswickers.  But  Bobby  Clyffurde  is  with 
Maitland's  guards. 

And  now  the  wave  of  steel  Is  surging  up  the  incline: 
the  gleam  of  shining  metal  pierces  the  distant  haze,  casques 
and  lances  glitter  in  the  slowly  sinking  sun,  whilst  from 
billow  to  billow  the  echo  brings  to  straining  ears  the  tri- 
umphant cry  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 

Five  minutes  later  the  British  artillery  ranged  along  the 
crest  has  made  a  huge  breach  in  that  solid,  moving  mass  of 
horses  and  of  steel.  Quickly  the  breach  is  repaired :  the 
ranks  close  up  again!  This  is  a  parade!  a  review!  The 
eyes  of  France  are  upon  her  sons!  and  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 

Still  they  come! 

Volley  after  volley  from  the  British  guns  makes  deadly 
havoc  among  those  glistering  ranks ! 

But  nevertheless  they  come! 

No  halt  save  for  the  quick  closing  up  into  serried,  or- 
derly columns.  And  then  on  with  the  advance! — like  the 
surging  up  of  a  tidal  wave  against  the  cliffs — on  with  the 
advance!  up  the  slopes  toward  the  crest  where  those  who 
are  in  the  front  ranks  are  mowed  down  by  the  British 
guns — their  places  taken  by  others  from  the  rear — ^those 
others  mowed  down  again,  and  again  replaced — falling  in 
their  hundreds  as  they  reach  the  crest,  like  the  surf  that 
shivers  and  dies  as  it  strikes  against  the  cliffs. 

Ney's  horse  is  killed  under  him — the  fifth  to-day — ^but  he 
quickly  extricates  himself  from  saddle  and  stirrups  and  con- 
tinues on  his  way — on  foot,  sword  in  hand — the  sword 
that  conquered  at  Austerlitz,  at  Eylau  and  at  Moskowa. 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  ffft 

Round  him  the  grenadiers  of  the  Old  Guard— they  with  the 
fur  bonnets  and  the  grizzled  moustaches — tighten  up  their 
ranks. 

They  advance  behind  the  cavalry!  and  after  every  volley 
from  the  British  guns  they  shout  loudly:  "Vive  TEm- 
pereiir!" 

And  anon  the  tidal  wave — despite  the  ebb,  despite  the 
constant  breaking  of  its  surf — has  by  sheer  force  of  weight 
hurled  itself  upon  the  crest  of  the  plateau. 

The  Brunswickers  on  the  left  are  scattered.  Cleeves  and 
Lloyd  have  been  forced  to  abandon  their  guns :  the  British 
artillery  is  silenced  and  the  chasseurs  of  Michel  hold  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  upland,  and  turn  a  deadly  fusillade 
upon  Colin  Halkett's  brigade  already  attacked  by  Milhaud 
and  his  guards  and  now  severely  shaken. 

"See  the  English  General!"  cries  Duchaud  to  his  cuiras- 
siers, "he  is  between  two  fires.    He  cannot  escape." 

No !  he  cannot  but  he  seizes  the  colours  of  the  33rd  whose 
young  lieutenant  has  just  fallen,  and  who  threaten  to  yield 
under  the  devastating  cross-fire :  he  brandishes  the  tattered 
colours,  high  up  above  his  head — as  high  as  he  can  hold 
them— he  calls  to  his  men  to  rally,  and  then  falls  griev- 
ously wounded. 

But  his  guards  have  rallied.  They  stand  firm  now,  and 
Duchaud,  chewing  his  grey  moustache,  murmurs  his  appre- 
ciation of  so  gallant  a  foe. 

"That  side  will  win,"  he  mutters,  "who  can  best  keep 
on  killing." 

rv 

"Up,  guards,  and  at  them !" 

Maitland's  brigade  of  guards  had  been  crouching  m  the 
com— crouching— waiting  for  the  order  to  charge— red- 
coated  lions  in  the  ripening  corn— ready  to  sprmg  at  the 
word. 


298  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

And  Death  the  harvester  in  chief  stands  by  with  his 
scythe  ready  for  the  mowing, 

"Up,  guards,  and  at  them !" 

It  is  Maitland  and  his  gallant  brigade  of  guards— out  of 
the  com  they  rise  and  front  the  three  battalions  of 
Michel's  chasseurs  who  were  the  first  to  reach  the  highest 
point  of  the  hill.  They  fire  and  Death  with  his  scythe  has 
laid  three  hundred  low.  The  tricolour  flag  is  riddled  with 
grapeshot  and  General  Michel  has  fallen. 

Then  indeed  the  mighty  wave  of  steel  can  advance  no 
longer:  for  it  is  confronted  with  an  impenetrable  wall — a 
wall  of  living,  palpitating,  heroic  men — men  who  for  hours 
have  stood  their  ground  and  fought  for  the  honour  of  Brit- 
ain and  of  her  flag — ^men  who  with  set  teeth  and  grim  deter- 
mination were  ready  to  sell  their  lives  dearly  if  lives  were  to 
be  sold — ^men  in  fact  who  have  had  their  orders  to  hold  out 
to  the  last  man  and  who  are  going  to  obey  those  orders 
now. 

"Up,  guards,  and  at  them,"  and  surprised,  bewildered, 
staggered,  the  chasseurs  pause :  three  hundred  of  their  com- 
rades lie  dead  or  dying  on  the  ground.  They  pause :  their 
ranks  are  broken :  with  his  last  dying  sigh  brave  General 
Michel  tries  to  rally  them.  But  he  breathes  his  last  ere 
he  succeeds:  his  second  in  command  loses  his  head.  He 
should  have  ordered  a  bayonet  charge — sudden,  swift  and 
sure — against  that  red  wall  that  rushes  at  them  with  such 
staggering  power:  but  he  too  tries  to  rally  his  men,  to  re- 
form their  ranks — how  can  they  re-form  as  for  parade 
under  the  deadly  fire  of  the  British  guards? 

Confusion  begins  its  deathly  sway:  the  chasseurs — under 
conflicting  orders — stand  for  full  ten  minutes  almost  mo- 
tionless under  that  devastating  fire. 

And  far  away  on  the  heights  of  Frischemont  the  first 
line  of  Prussian  bayonets  are  seen  silhouetted  against  the 
sunset  sky. 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  «99 

Wellington  has  seen  it.  Bliicher  has  come  at  last!  One 
final  effort,  one  more  mighty  gigantic,  superhuman  struggle 
and  the  glorious  end  would  be  in  sight.  He  gives  the 
order  for  a  general  charge. 

"Forward,  boys,"  cries  Colonel  Saltoun  to  his  brigade. 
"Now  is  the  time!" 

Heads  down  the  British  charge.  The  chasseurs  are  al- 
ready scattered,  but  behind  the  chasseurs,  fronting  Mait- 
land's  brigade,  fronting  Adam  and  his  artillery,  fronting 
Saltoun  and  Colborne  the  Fire-Eater,  the  Old  Guard  is 
seen  to  advance,  the  Old  Guard  who  through  twelve  cam- 
paigns and  an  hundred  victories  have  shown  the  world  how 
to  conquer  and  how  to  die. 

When  Michel's  chasseurs  were  scattered,  when  their  Gen- 
eral fell ;  when  the  English  lines,  exhausted  and  shaken  for 
a  moment,  rallied  at  Wellington's  call :  "Up,  guards,  and 
at  them !"  when  from  far  away  on  the  heights  of  Frische- 
mont  the  first  line  of  Prussian  bayonets  were  silhouetted 
against  the  sunset  sky,  then  did  Napoleon's  old  growlers 
with  their  fur  bonnets  and  their  grizzled  moustaches  enter 
the  line  of  action  to  face  the  English  guards.  They  were 
facing  Death  and  knew  it  but  still  they  cried :  "Vive  I'Em- 
pereur !" 

Heads  down  the  British  charge,  whilst  from  Ohain  comes 
the  roar  of  Blucher's  guns,  and  up  from  the  east,  Zieten 
with  the  Prussians  rushes  up  to  join  in  the  assault. 

Then  the  carnage  begins :  for  the  Old  Guard  is  still  ad- 
vancing— in  solid  squares — solemn,  unmoved,  magnificent: 
the  bronze  eagles  on  their  bonnets  catch  the  golden  rays  of 
the  setting  sun.  Thus  they  advance  in  face  of  deadly  fire: 
they  fall  like  corn  before'  the  scythe.  A  sublime  suicide 
to  the  cry  of  "Vive  I'Empereur !"  and  not  one  of  the  brigade 
is  missing  except  those  who  are  dead.  _ 

They  know— none  better— that  this  is  the  beginning  of 
the  end.    Perhaps  they  do  not  care  to  live  if  their  Emperor 


300  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

is  to  be  Emperor  no  longer,  if  he  is  to  be  sent  back  to  exile 
— to  the  prison  of  Elba  or  worse:  and  so  they  advance  in 
serried  squares,  while  Maitland's  artillery  has  attacked  them 
in  the  rear.  Great  gaps  are  made  in  those  ranks,  but  they 
are  quickly  filled  up  again:  the  squares  become  less  solid, 
smaller,  but  »they  remain  compact.    Still  they  advance. 

But  now  close  behind  them  Bliicher's  guns  begin  to  thun- 
der and  Zieten's  columns  are  rapidly  gaining  ground :  all 
round  their  fur  bonnets  a  hailstorm  of  grape-shot  is  raging 
whilst  Adam's  artillery  is  in  action  within  fifty  paces  at  their 
flank.  But  the  old  growlers  who  had  suffered  death  with 
silent  fortitude  in  the  snows  of  Russia,  who  had  been  as 
grand  in  their  defeat  at  Moscow  and  at  Leipzic  as  they 
had  been  in  the  triumphs  of  Auerstadt  or  of  Friedland — ■ 
they  neither  staggered  nor  paused  in  their  advance.  On 
they  went — carrying  their  muskets  on  their  shoulders — a 
cloud  of  tirailleurs  in  front  of  them,  right  into  the  cross-fire 
of  the  British  guns:  their  loud  cry  of  "Vive  I'Empereur" 
drowning  that  other  awesome,  terrible  cry  which  someone 
had  raised  a  while  ago  and  which  now  went  from  mouth 
to  mouth :   "We  are  betrayed !  Sauve  qui  pent!" 

The  Prussians  were  in  their  rear;  the  British  were  charg- 
ing their  front,  and  panic  had  seized  the  most  brilliant  cav- 
alry the  world  had  ever  seen. 

"Sauve  qui  pent"  is  echoed  now  and  re-echoed  all  along 
the  crest  of  the  plateau.  And  the  echo  rolls  down  the  slope 
into  the  valley  where  Reille's  infantry  and  a  regiment  of 
cuirassiers,  and  three  more  battalions  of  chasseurs,  are  mak- 
ing ready  to  second  the  assault  on  Mont  Saint  Jean.  Reille 
and  his  infantry  pause  and  listen:  the  cuirassiers  halt  in 
their  upward  movement,  whilst  up  on  the  ridge  of  the 
plateau  where  Donzelot's  grenadiers  have  attacked  the  bri- 
gade of  Kempt  and  Lambert  and  Pack,  the  whisper  goes 
from  mouth  to  mouth  : 

"We  are  betrayed !    Sauve  qui  peut!" 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  soi 

Panic  seizes  the  younger  men:  they  turn  their  horses' 
heads  back  toward  the  slopes.  The  stampede  has  com- 
menced:  very  soon  it  grows.  The  British  in  front,  the 
Prussians  in  the  rear:    "Sauve  qui  peut!" 

Ney  amongst  them  is  almost  unrecognisable.  His  face 
is  coal-black  with  powder :  he  has  no  hat,  no  epaulettes  and 
only  half  a  sword :  rage,  anguish,  bitterness  are  in  his  husky 
voice  as  he  adjures,  entreats,  calls  to  the  demoralised  army 
— and  insults  it,  execrates  it  in  turn.  But  nothing  but  Death 
will  stop  that  army  now  in  Its  headlong  flight. 

"xVt  least  stop  and  see  how  a  Marshal  of  France  dies  on 
the  field  of  honour,"  he  calls. 

But  the  voice  which  led  these  same  men  to  victory  at 
Moskowa  has  lost  its  potency  and  its  magic.  The  men 
cry  "Vive  Ney  Y'  but  they  do  not  stand.  The  stampede  has 
become  general.  In  the  valley  below  the  infantry  has 
started  to  run  up  the  slope  of  La  Belle  Alliance :  after  it  the 
cavalry  with  reins  hanging  loose,  stirrups  lost,  casques, 
sabretaches,  muskets — anything  that  impedes — thrown  into 
the  fields  to  right  and  left.  La  Haye  Salnte  is  evacuated, 
Hougoumont  is  abandoned;  Papelotte,  Plancenoit,  the 
woods,  the  plains  are  only  filled  with  running  men  and  the 
thunder  of  galloping  chargers. 

Alone  the  Old  Guard  has  remained  unshaken.  Whilst 
all  around  them  what  was  once  the  Grand  Army  Is  shat- 
tered, destroyed,  melted  like  ice  before  a  devastating  fire, 
they  have  continued  to  advance,  sublime  in  their  fortitude, 
in  their  endurance,  their  contempt  for  death.  One  by  one 
their  columns  are  shattered  and  there  are  none  now  to  re- 
place those  that  fall.  And  as  the  gloom  of  night  settles 
on  this  vast  hecatomb  on  the  plateau  of  Mont  Saint  Jean  the 
conquerors  of  Jena  and  Austerlitz  and  Friedland  make  their 
last  stand  round  the  bronze  eagle— all  that  is  left  to  them 
of  the  glories  of  the  past. 


302  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

And  when  from  far  away  the  cry  of  "Sauve  qui  peut" 
has  become  only  an  echo,  and  the  bronze  eagle  shattered 
by  a  bullet  lies  prone  upon  the  ground  shielded  against 
capture  in  its  fall  by  a  circling  mountain  of  dead,  when 
finally  Night  wraps  all  the  heroism,  the  glory,  the  sorrow 
and  the  horrors  of  this  awful  day  in  the  sable  folds  of  her 
all-embracing  mantle,  Napoleon's  Old  Guard  has  ceased 
to  be. 

And  out  in  the  western  sky  a  streak  of  vivid  crimson 
like  human  blood  has  broken  the  bosom  of  the  clouds :  the 
glow  of  the  sinking  sun  rests  on  this  huge  dissolution  of 
what  was  once  so  glorious  and  unconquered  and  great. 
Then  it  is  that  Wellington  rides  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
plateau  and  fronts  the  gallant  British  troops  at  this  supreme 
hour  of  oncoming  victory,  and  lifting  his  hat  high  above 
his  head  he  waves  it  three  times  in  the  air. 

And  from  right  and  left  they  come,  British,  Hanoverians, 
Belgians  and  Brunswickers  to  deliver  the  final  blow  to  this 
retreating  army,  wounded  already  unto  death. 

They  charge  now:  they  charge  all  of  them,  cavalry,  in- 
fantry, gunners,  forty  thousand  men  who  have  forgotten 
exhaustion,  forgotten  what  they  have  suffered,  forgotten 
what  they  had  endured.  On  they  come  with  a  rush  like  a 
torrent  let  loose;  the  confusion  of  sounds  and  sights  be- 
comes a  pandemonium  of  hideousness,  bugles  and  drums 
and  trumpets  and  bagpipes  all  mingle,  merge  and  die  away 
in  the  fast  gathering  twilight. 

And  the  tidal  wave  of  steel  recedes  down  the  slopes  of 
Mont  Saint  Jean,  into  the  valley  and  thence  up  again  on 
Belle  Alliance,  with  a  melee  of  sounds  like  the  breaking 
of  a  gigantic  line  of  surf  against  the  irresistible  cliffs,  or 
the  last  drawn-out  sigh  of  agony  of  dying  giants  in  prime- 
val times. 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK  808 


On  the  road  to  Genappe  in  the  mystery  of  the  moonlit 
night  a  solitary  rider  turned  into  a  field  and  dismounted. 

Carried  along  for  a  time  by  the  stream  of  the  panic,  he 
found  himself  for  a  moment  comparatively  alone — left  as 
it  were  high  and  dry  by  the  same  stream  which  here  had 
divided  and  flowed  on  to  right  and  left  of  him.  He  wore 
a  grey  redingote  and  a  shabby  bicorne  hat. 

Having  dismounted  he  slipped  the  bridle  over  his  arm  and 
started  to  walk  beside  his  horse  back  toward  Waterloo. 

A  sleep-walker  in  pursuit  of  his  dream! 

Heavy  banks  of  grey  clouds  chased  one  another  with  mad 
fury  across  the  midsummer  sky,  now  obscuring  the  cold 
face  of  the  moon,  now  allowing  her  pale,  silvery  rays  to 
light  up  this  gigantic  panorama  of  desolation  and  terror 
and  misery.  To  right  and  left  along  the  roads  and  lanes, 
across  grassland  and  cornfields,  canals,  ditches  and  fences 
the  last  of  the  Grand  Army  was  flying  headlong,  closely 
pursued  by  the  Prussians.  And  at  the  farm  of  La  Belle 
Alliance  Wellington  and  Bliicher  had  met  and  shaken  hands, 
and  had  thanked  God  for  the  great  and  glorious  victory. 

But  the  sleep-walker  went  on  in  pursuit  of  his  dream — ' 
he  walked  with  measured  steps  beside  his  weary  horse,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  horizon  far  away,  where  the  dull  crim- 
son glow  of  smouldering  fires  threw  its  last  weird  light 
upon  this  vast  abode  of  the  dead  and  the  dying.  He  walked 
on — slowly  and  mechanically  back  to  the  scene  of  the  over- 
whelming cataclysm  where  all  his  hopes  lay  irretrievably 
buried.  He  walked  on— majestic  as  he  had  never  been  be- 
fore, in  the  brilliant  throne-room  of  the  Tuileries  or  the 
mystic  vastness  of  Notre  Dame  when  the  Imperial  crown 
sat  so  ill  upon  his  plebeian  head.  .  .  .  He  walked  on— silent, 
exalted  and  great— great  through  the  magnitude  of  his 
downfall. 


S04f  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

And  to  right  and  left  of  him,  hke  the  surf  that  recedes 
on  a  pebbly  beach,  the  last  of  his  once  invincible  army 
was  flying  back  to  France — ^back  in  the  wake  of  those  who 
had  been  lucky  enough  to  fly  before — bodies  of  men  who 
had  been  the  last  to  realise  that  an  heroic  stand  round  a 
fallen  eagle  could  no  longer  win  back  that  which  was  lost, 
and  that  if  life  be  precious  it  could  only  be  had  in  flight 
— bits  of  human  wreckage  too,  forgotten  by  the  tide — they 
all  rolled  and  rushed  and  swept  past  the  silent  wayfarer 
.  .  .  quite  close  at  times :  so  close  that  every  man  could  see 
him  quite  distinctly,  could  easily  distinguish  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  the  grey  redingote  and  the  battered  hat  which  they 
all  knew  so  well — which  they  had  been  wont  to  see  in  the 
forefront  of  an  hundred  victorious  charges. 

Now  half -blinded  by  despair  and  by  panic  they  gazed 
with  uncomprehending  eyes  on  the  man  and  on  the  horse 
and  merely  shouted  to  him  as  they  rushed  galloping  or 
running  by,  "The  Prussians  are  on  us !    Sauve  qui  pent!" 

And  the  dreamer  still  looked  on  that  distant  crimson 
glow  and  in  the  bosom  of  those  wind-swept  clouds  he  saw 
the  pictures  of  Austerlitz  and  Jena  and  Wagram,  pictures 
of  glory  and  might  and  victory,  and  the  shouts  which  he 
heard  were  the  ringing  cheers  round  the  bivouac  fires  of 
long  ago. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  LAST  THROW 


It  was  close  on  half-past  nine  and  the  moon  full  up  on 
the  stormy  sky  when  a  couple  of  riders  detached  themselves 
out  of  the  surging  mass  of  horses  and  men  that  were  flying 
pell-mell  towards  Genappe,  and  slightly  checking  their 
horses,  put  them  to  a  slower  gallop  and  finally  to  a  trot. 

On  their  right  a  small  cottage  gleamed  snow-white  in  the 
cold,  searching  light  of  the  moon.  A  low  wall  ran  to  right 
and  left  of  it  and  enclosed  a  small  yard  at  the  back  of 
the  cottage ;  the  wall  had  a  gate  in  it  which  gave  on  the  fields 
beyond.  At  the  moment  that  the  two  riders  trotting  slowly 
down  the  road  reached  the  first  angle  of  the  wall,  the  gate 
was  open  and  a  man  leading  a  white  horse  and  wearing  a 
grey  redingote  turned  into  the  yard. 

"My  God !  the  Emperor!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  riders  as 
he  drew  rein. 

They  both  turned  their  horses  into  the  field,  skirting  the 
low,  enclosing  wall  until  they  reached  the  gate.  The  white 
horse  was  now  tethered  to  a  post  and  the  man  in  the  grey 
redingote  was  standing  in  the  doorway  at  the  rear  of  the 
cottage.  The  two  men  dismounted  and  in  their  turn  led 
their  horses  into  the  yard:  at  sight  of  them  the  man  m 
the  grey  redingote  seemed  to  wake  from  his  sleep. 

"Berthier,"  he  said  slowly,  "is  that  you?" 

"Yes,  Sire,— and  Colonel  Bertrand  is  here  too. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

305 


806  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"We  earnestly  beg  you,  Sire,  to  come  with  us  to  Genappe. 
There  is  not  the  slightest  hope  of  rallying  any  portion  of 
your  army  now.  The  Prussians  are  on  us.  You  might 
fall  into  their  hands." 

Berthier — conqueror  and  Prince  of  Wagram — spoke  very 
earnestly  and  with  head  uncovered,  but  more  abruptly  and 
harshly  than  he  had  been  wont  to  do  of  yore  in  the  salons 
of  the  Tuileries  or  on  the  glory-crowned  battlefields  at 
the  close  of  a  victorious  day. 

"I  am  coming !  I  am  coming !"  said  the  Emperor  with  a 
quick  sigh  of  impatience.  "I  only  wanted  to  be  alone  a 
moment — to  think  things  out — ^to  .  .  ." 

"There  is  nothing  quite  so  urgent.  Sire,  as  your  safety," 
retorted  the  Prince  of  Wagram  drily. 

The  Emperor  did  not — or  did  not  choose  to — heed  his 
great  Marshal's  marked  want  of  deference.  Perhaps  he 
was  accustomed  to  the  moods  of  these  men  whom  his  bounty 
had  fed  and  loaded  with  wealth  and  dignities  and  titles  in 
the  days  of  his  glory,  and  who  had  proved  only  too  ready, 
alas! — even  last  year,  even  now — to  desert  him  when  dis- 
aster was  in  sight. 

Without  another  word  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  pushing 
open  the  cottage  door  he  disappeared  into  the  darkness  of 
the  tiny  room  beyond.  With  an  impatient  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  Berthier  prepared  to  follow  him.  Colonel  Ber- 
trand  busied  himself  with  tethering  the  horses,  then  he  too 
followed  Berthier  into  the  building. 

It  was  deserted,  of  course,  as  all  isolated  cottages  and 
houses  had  been  in  the  vicinity  of  Quatre  Bras  or  Mont 
Saint  Jean.  Bertrand  struck  a  tinder  and  lighted  a  tallow 
candle  that  stood  forlorn  on  a  deal  table  in  the  centre  of 
the  room.  The  flickering  light  revealed  a  tiny  cottage 
kitchen — hastily  abandoned  but  scrupulously  clean — white- 
washed walls,  a  red-tiled  floor,  the  iron  hearth,  the  painted 
dresser  decorated  with  white  crockery,  shiny  tin  pans  hung 


THE  LAST  THROW  307 

in  rows  against  the  walls  and  two  or  three  rush  chairs. 
Napoleon  sat  down. 

"I  again  entreat  you,  Sire—"  began  Berthier  more  ear- 
nestly than  before. 

But  the  Emperor  was  staring  straight  out  before  him, 
with  eyes  that  apparently  saw  something  beyond  that  rough 
white  wall  opposite,  on  which  the  flickering  candle-light 
threw  such  weird  gargantuan  shadows.  The  precious  min- 
utes sped  on :  minutes  wherein  death  or  capture  strode  with 
giant  steps  across  the  fields  of  Flanders  to  this  lonely  cot- 
tage where  the  once  mightiest  ruler  in  Europe  sat  dream- 
ing of  what  might  have  been.  The  silence  of  the  night  was 
broken  by  the  thunder  of  flying  horses'  hoofs,  by  the  cries 
of  "Sauve  qui  pent!"  and  distant  volleys  of  artillery  pro- 
claiming from  far  away  that  Death  had  not  finished  all 
his  work  yet. 

Bertrand  and  Berthier  stood  by,  with  heads  uncovered : 
silent,  moody  and  anxious. 

Suddenly  the  dreamer  roused  himself  for  a  moment 
and  spoke  abruptly  and  with  his  usual  peremptory  impa- 
tience :  "De  Marmont,"  he  said.  "Has  either  of  you  seen 
him?" 

"Not  lately.  Sire,"  replied  Colonel  Bertrand,  "not  smce 
five  o'clock  at  any  rate." 

"What  was  he  doing  then?" 

"He  was  riding  furiously  in  the  direction  of  NIvelles.  I 
shouted  to  him.  He  told  me  that  he  was  making  for 
Brussels  by  a  circuitous  way." 

"Ah!  that  is  right!  Well  done,  my  brave  de  Marmont! 
Braver  than  your  treacherous  kinsman  ever  was!  So  you 
saw  him,  did  you,  Bertrand  ?^^  Did  he  tell  you  that  he 
had  just  come  from  Genappe?" 

"Yes,  Sire,  he  did,"  replied  Bertrand  moodily.  He  tola 
me  that  by  your  orders  he  had  sent  a  messenger  from  there 
to  Paris  with  news  of  your  victory:  and  that  by  to-morrow 


SOS  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

morning  the  capital  would  be  ringing  with  enthusiasm  and 
with  cheers." 

"And  by  the  time  de  Marmont  came  back  from  Genappe," 
interposed  the  Prince  of  Wagram  with  a  sneer,  "the  plains 
■of  Waterloo  were  ringing  with  the  Grand  Army's  'Saiive 
qui  pent!' " 

"An  episode,  Prince,  only  an  episode!"  said  Napoleon 
with  an  angry  frown  of  impatience.  "To  hear  you  now 
one  would  imagine  that  Essling  had  never  been.  We  have 
teen  beaten  back,  of  course,  but  for  the  moment  the  world 
does  not  know  that.  Paris  to-morrow  will  be  be-flagged 
and  the  bells  of  Notre  Dame  will  send  forth  their  joyous 
peals  to  cheer  the  hearts  of  my  people.  And  in  Brussels 
this  afternoon  thousands  of  our  enemies — Belgians,  Dutch. 
Hanoverians,  Brunswickers — were  rushing  helter-skelter 
into  the  town — demoralised  and  disorganised  after  that 
brilliant  charge  of  our  cuirassiers  against  the  Allied  left." 

"Would  to  God  the  British  had  been  among  them  too,'* 
murmured  old  Colonel  Bertrand.    "But  for  their  stand  .  .  ." 

"And  a  splendid  stand  it  was.  Ah!  but  for  that.  .  .  . 
To  think  that  if  Grouchy  had  kept  the  Prussians  away,  in 
only  another  hour  we  .  .  ." 

The  dreamer  paused  in  his  dream  of  the  might  have 
"been :  then  he  continued  more  calmly : 

"But  I  was  not  thinking  of  that  just  now.  I  was  think- 
ing of  those  who  fled  to  Brussels  this  afternoon  with  the 
news  of  our  victory  and  of  Wellington's  defeat." 

"Even  then  the  truth  is  known  in  Brussels  by  now,"  pro- 
tested Berthier. 

"Yes !  but  not  before  de  Marmont  has  had  the  time  and 
the  pluck  to  save  us  and  our  Empire!  .  .  .  Berthier,"  he 
continued  more  vehemently,  "don't  stand  there  so  gloomy, 
man  .  .  .  and  you,  too,  my  old  Bertrand.  .  .  .  Surely, 
surely  you  have  realised  that  at  this  terrible  juncture  we 
must  utilise  every  circumstance  which  is  in  our   favour. 


THE  LAST  THROW  SO9 

.  .  .  That  early  news  of  our  victory  ...  we  can  make  use 
of  that.  ...  A  big  throw  in  this  mighty  game,  but  we  can. 
do  it  .  .  .  Berthier,  do  you  see  how  we  can  do  it  .  .  .  ?" 

"No,  Sire,  I  confess  that  I  do  not,"  repHed  the  Marshal 
gloomily. 

"You  do  not  see?"  retorted  the  Emperor  with  a  frown 
of  angry  impatience.  "De  Marmont  did — at  once — but  he 
is  young — ^and  enthusiastic,  whereas  you.  .  .  .  But  don't 
you  see  that  the  news  of  Wellington's  defeat  must  have 
enormous  consequences  on  the  money  markets  of  the  world 
— if  only  for  a  few  hours?  ...  It  must  send  the  prices  on 
the  foreign  Bourses  tumbling  about  people's  ears  and  create 
an  absolute  panic  on  the  London  Stock  Exchange.  Only 
for  a  few  hours  of  course  .  .  .  but  do  you  not  see  that  if 
any  man  is  wise  enough  to  buy  stock  in  London  during 
that  panic  he  can  make  a  fortune  by  re-selling  the  moment 
the  truth  is  known?" 

"Even  then,  Sire,"  stammered  Berthier,  a  little  confused 
by  this  avalanche  of  seemingly  irrelevant  facts  hurled  at 
him  at  a  moment  when  the  whole  map  of  Europe  was  being 
changed  by  destiny  and  her  future  trembled  in  the  hands 
of  God. 

"Ah,  de  Marmont  saw  it  all  .  .  .  at  once  .  .  ."  con- 
tinued the  Emperor  earnestly,  "he  saw  eye  to  eye  with 
me.  He  knows  that  money — a  great  deal  of  money— is 
just  what  I  want  now  .  .  .  money  to  reorganise  my  army, 
to  re-equip  and  reform  it.  The  Chamber  and  my  Ministers 
will  never  give  me  what  I  want.  ...  My  God !  they  are 
such  cowards!  and  some  of  them  would  rather  see  the  for- 
eign troops  again  in  Paris  than  Napoleon  Emperor  at  the 
Tuileries.  You  should  know  that,  Marechal,  and  you,  too, 
my  good  Bertrand.  De  Marmont  knows  it  .  .  .  that  is 
why  he  rode  to  Brussels  at  the  hour  when  I  alone  knew 
that  all  was  lost  at  Waterloo,  but  when  half  Europe  stiU 
thought  that  the  Corsican  ogre  had  conquered  agam.  .  .  . 


310  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

De  Marmont  is  in  Brussels  now  .  .  .  to-night  he  crosses 
over  to  England — to-morrow  morning  he  and  his  broker 
will  be  in  the  Stock  Exchange  in  London — calm,  silent, 
watchful.  An  operation  on  the  Bourse,  what?  like  hun- 
dreds that  have  been  done  before  .  .  .  but  in  this  case  the 
object  will  be  to  turn  one  million  into  fifty  so  that  with  it 
I  might  rebuild  my  Empire  again." 

He  spoke  with  absolute  conviction,  and  with  indomitable 
fervour,  sitting  here  quietly,  he — the  architect  of  the  might- 
iest empire  of  modern  days — just  as  he  used  to  do  in  the 
camps  at  Austerlitz  and  Jena  and  Wagram  and  Friedland — 
with  one  clenched  hand  resting  upon  the  rough  deal  table, 
the  flickering  light  of  the  tallow  candle  illuminating  the 
wide  brow,  the  heavy  jaw,  those  piercing  eyes  that  still 
gazed — in  this  hour  of  supreme  catastrophe — into  a  glorious 
future  destined  never  to  be — scheming,  planning,  scheming 
still,  even  while  his  Grand  Army  was  melting  into  nothing- 
ness all  around  him,  and  distant  volleys  of  musketry  were 
busy  consummating  the  final  annihilation  of  the  Empire 
which  he  had  created  and  still  hoped  to  rebuild. 

Berthier  gave  a  quick  sign  of  impatience. 

Rebuild  an  Empire,  ye  gods! — an  Empire! — when  the 
flower  of  its  manhood  lies  pale  and  stark  like  the  windrows 
of  corn  after  the  harvester  has  done  his  work.  Thoughts 
of  a  dreamer!  Schemes  of  a  visionary!  How  will  the 
quaking  lips  which  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
this  vast  hecatomb  now  cry,  "Sauve  qui  pent!"  how  will 
they  ever  intone  again  the  old  "Vive  I'Empereur!" 

The  conqueror  of  Wagram  gave  a  bitter  sigh  and  faith- 
ful Bertrand  hung  his  head  gloomily ;  but  de  Marmont  had 
neither  sighed  nor  doubted :  but  then  de  Marmont  was 
young — ^he  too  was  a  dreamer,  and  an  enthusiast  and  a 
visionary.  His  idol  in  his  eyes  had  never  had  feet  of  clay. 
For  him  the  stricken  man  was  his  Emperor  still — the  archi- 
tect, the  creator,  the  invincible  conqueror — checked  for  a 


THE  LAST  THROW  811 

moment  in  his  glorious  work,  but  able  at  his  will  to  re- 
build the  Empire  of  France  again  on  the  very  ruins  that 
smouldered  now  on  the  fields  of  Waterloo. 

"I  can  do  it,  Sire,"  he  had  cried  exultantly,  when  his 
Emperor  first  expounded  his  great,  new  scheme  to  him.  "I 
can  be  in  Brussels  in  an  hour,  and  catch  the  midnight  packet 
for  England  at  Ostend.  At  dawn  I  shall  be  in  London,  and 
by  ten  o'clock  at  my  post.  I  know  a  financier— a  Jew,  and 
a  mightily  clever  one — he  will  operate  for  me.  I  have  a  mil- 
lion or  two  francs  invested  in  England,  we'll  use  these  for 
our  operations!  Money,  Sire!  You  shall  have  millions! 
Our  differences  on  the  Stock  Exchange  will  equip  the  finest 
army  that  even  you  have  ever  had!  Fifty  millions?  I'll 
bring  you  a  hundred !  God  has  not  yet  decreed  the  downfall 
of  the  Empire  of  France!" 

So  de  Marmont  had  spoken  this  afternoon  in  the  enthu- 
siasm of  his  youth  and  of  his  hero-worship :  and  since  then 
the  great  dreamer  had  continued  to  weave  his  dreams! 
Nothing  was  lost,  nothing  could  be  lost  whilst  enthusiasm 
such  as  that  survived  in  the  hearts  of  the  young. 

And  still  wrapped  in  his  dream  he  sat  on,  while  danger 
and  death  and  disgrace  threatened  him  on  every  side.  Ber- 
thier  and  Bertrand  entreated  in  vain,  in  vain  tried  to  drag 
him  away  from  this  solitary  place,  where  any  moment  a 
party  of  Prussians  might  find  and  capture  him. 

Unceremoniously  the  Prince  of  Wagram  had  blown  out 
the  flickering  light  that  might  have  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  pursuers.  It  was  a  very  elementary  precaution,  the 
only  one  he  or  Bertrand  was  able  to  take.  The  horses  were 
out  in  the  yard  for  anyone  to  see,  and  the  greatest  spoil  of 
victory  might  at  any  moment  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
meanest  Prussian  soldier  out  for  loot. 

But  the  dreamer  still  sat  on  in  the  gloom,  with  the  pale 
light  of  the  moon  streaming  in  through  the  narrow  case- 
ment window  and  illumining  that  raarble-Uke  face,  rigid 


312  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

and  set,  that  seemed  only  to  live  by  the  glowing  eyes — the 
eyes  that  looked  into  the  future  and  the  past  and  heeded 
not  the  awful  present. 

Close  on  a  quarter  of  an  hour  went  by  until  at  last  he 
jumped  to  his  feet,  with  the  sudden  cry  of  "To  Genappe !" 

Berthier  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  Bertrand  hurried  out 
to  unfasten  the  horses. 

"You  are  impatient,  Prince,"  said  the  Emperor  almost 
gaily,  as  he  strode  with  a  firm  step  to  the  door.  "You  are 
afraid  those  cursed  Prussians  will  put  the  Corsican  ogre  into 
a  cage  and  send  him  at  once  to  His  Victorious  Bourbon 
Majesty  King  Louis  XVHL  Not  so,  my  good  Berthier,  not 
so.  The  Star  of  my  Destiny  has  not  yet  declined.  I've 
done  all  the  thinking  I  wanted  to  do.  Now  we'll  to  Ge- 
nappe, where  we'll  rally  the  remnants  of  our  army  and  then 
quietly  await  de  Marmont's  return  with  the  millions  which 
we  want.  After  that  we'll  boldly  on  to  Paris  and  defy  my 
enemies  there  .  .  .  En  avant,  Marechal !  the  Corsican  ogre 
is  not  in  the  iron  cage  yet !" 

Outside  Bertrand  was  holding  his  stirrup  for  him.  He 
swung  himself  lightly  in  the  saddle  and  turned  out 
of  the  farmyard  gate  into  the  open,  throwing  back  his 
head  and  sniffing  the  storm-laden  air  as  if  he  was  about  to 
lead  his  army  to  one  of  his  victorious  charges.  Not  wait- 
ing to  see  how  close  the  other  two  men  followed  him,  he 
put  his  horse  at  once  at  a  gallop. 

He  rode  on — never  pausing — never  looking  round  even 
on  that  gigantic  desolation  which  the  cold  light  of  the 
moon  weirdly  and  fitfully  revealed — his  mind  was  fixed 
upon  a  fresh  throw  on  the  gaming  table  of  the  world. 

Overhead  the  storm-driven  clouds  chased  one  another 
with  unflagging  fury  across  the  moonlit  sky,  now  obscuring, 
now  revealing  that  gigantic  dissolution  of  the  Grand  Army, 
so  like  the  melting  of  ice  and  frost  under  the  fierce  kiss 
of  the  sun. 


THE  LAST  THROW  818 

More  than  men  in  an  attack,  less  than  women  in  a  re- 
treat, the  finest  cavalry  Europe  had  ever  seen  was  flying 
like  sand  before  the  wind:  but  the  somnambulist  rode  on 
in  his  sleep,  forgetting  that  on  these  vast  and  billowing  fields 
twenty-six  thousand  gallant  French  heroes  had  died  for  the 
sake  of  his  dreams. 

Bertrand  and  the  Prince  of  Wagram  followed — gloomy 
and  silent — they  knew  that  all  suggestions  would  be  useless, 
all  saner  advice  remain  unheeded.  Besides,  de  Marmont 
had  gone,  and  after  all,  what  did  it  all  matter?  What  did 
anything  matter,  now  that  Empire,  glory,  hope,  everything 
were  irretrievably  lost? 

And  in  faithful  Bertrand's  deep-set  eyes  there  came  a 
strange,  far-off  look,  almost  of  premonition,  as  if  in  his 
mind  he  could  already  see  that  lonely  island  rock  in  the 
Atlantic,  and  the  great  gambler  there,  eating  out  his  heart 
with  vain  and  bitter  regrets. 

II 

But  de  Marmont  had  never  had  any  doubts,  never  any 
forebodings :  he  only  had  boundless  faith  in  his  hero  and 
boundless  enthusiasm  for  his  cause.  Accustomed  to  handle 
money  since  early  manhood,  owner  of  a  vast  fortune  which 
he  had  administered  himself  with  no  mean  skill,  he  had  no 
doubt  that  the  Emperor's  scheme  for  manufacturing  a  few 
millions  in  a  w^ild  gamble  on  the  Stock  Exchange  was  not 
only  feasible  but  certain  of  success. 

Undoubtedly  the  false  news  of  Wellington's  defeat  would 
reach  London  to-morrow,  as  it  had  already  reached  Pans 
and  Brussels.  The  panic  in  the  money  market  was  a  fore- 
gone conclusion:  the  quick  rise  in  prices  when  the  truth  be- 
came known  was  equally  certain.  It  only  meant  forestallmg 
the  arrival  of  Wellington's  despatches  m  London  by  tour 
and  twenty  hours,  and  one  million  would  make  fifty  durmg 
that  time. 


314  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

As  de  Marmont  had  told  his  Emperor,  he  had  several 
hundred  thousand  pounds  invested  in  England,  on  which 
he  could  lay  his  hands :  operations  on  the  Bourse  were 
nothing  new  to  him :  and  already  while  he  was  still  listen- 
ing with  respect  and  enthusiasm  to  his  Emperor's  instruc- 
tions, he  was  longing  to  get  away.  He  knew  the  country 
well  between  here  and  Brussels,  and  he  was  wildly  longing 
to  be  at  work,  to  be  flying  across  the  low-lying  land,  on  to 
Brussels  and  then  across  to  England  in  the  wake  of  the 
awful  news  of  complete  disaster. 

He  would  steal  the  uniform  of  some  poor  dead  wretch 
— a  Belgiwm  or  a  Hanoverian  or  a  black  Brunswicker,  he 
didn't  care  which — it  wouldn't  take  long  to  strip  the  dead, 
and  the  greatness  of  the  work  at  stake  would  justify  the 
sacrilege.  In  the  uniform  of  one  of  the  Allied  army  he 
could  safely  continue  his  journey  to  Brussels,  and  with  luck 
could  reach  the  city  long  before  sunset. 

In  Brussels  he  would  at  once  obtain  civilian  clothes  and 
then  catch  the  evening  packet  for  England  at  Ostend.  Oh, 
no!  it  was  not  likely  that  Wellington  could  send  a  mes- 
senger over  to  London  quite  so  soon ! 

At  this  hour — it  was  just  past  five — he  was  still  on  Mont 
Saint  Jean  making  another  desperate  stand  against  the  Im- 
perial cavalry  with  troops  half  worn  out  with  discourage- 
ment and  whose  endurance  must  even  now  be  giving 
way. 

At  this  hour  the  Prussians  had  appeared  at  Braine  L'Al- 
leud,  they  had  engaged  Reille  at  Plancenoit,  but  Welling- 
ton and  the  British  had  still  to  hold  their  ground  or  the 
news  which  de  Marmont  intended  to  accompany  to  London 
might  prove  true  after  all. 

Ye  gods,  if  only  that  were  possible!  How  gladly  would 
Victor  then  have  lost  the  hundred  thousands  which  he 
meant  to  risk  to-morrow!  Wellington  really  vanquished 
before  Bliicher  could  come  to  his  rescue!     Napoleon  once 


THE  LAST  THROW  315 

more  victorious,  as  he  had  always  been,  and  a  mightier 
monarch  than  before!  Then  he,  Victor  de  Marmont,  the 
faithful  young  enthusiast  who  had  never  ceased  to  believe 
when  others  wavered,  who  at  this  last  hour— when  the 
whole  world  seemed  to  crumble  away  from  under  the 
feet  of  the  man  who  had  once  been  its  master— was  still 
ready  to  serve  his  Emperor,  never  doubting,  always  hoping, 
he  would  reap  such  a  reward  as  must  at  last  dazzle  the  one 
woman  who  could  make  that  reward  for  him  doubly 
precious. 

Victor  de  Marmont  had  effected  the  gruesome  exchange. 
He  was  now  dressed  in  the  black  uniform  of  a  Brunswick 
regiment  wherein  so  many  French  royalists  were  serving. 
By  a  wide  detour  he  had  reached  the  approach  to  Brussels. 
Indeed  it  seemed  as  if  the  news  which  he  had  sent  flying 
to  Paris  was  true  after  all.  Behind  the  forest  of  Soigne 
where  he  now  was,  the  fields  and  roads  were  full  of  running 
men  and  galloping  horses.  The  dull  green  of  Belgian  uni- 
forms, the  yellow  facings  of  the  Dutch,  the  black  of  Bruns- 
wickers,  all  mingled  together  in  a  moving  kaleidoscopic  mass 
of  colour:  men  were  flying  unpursued  yet  panic-stricken 
towards  Brussels,  carrying  tidings  of  an  awful  disaster  to 
the  allied  armies  in  their  haggard  faces,  their  quivering  lips, 
their  blood-stained  tunics. 

De  Marmont  joined  in  with  them :  though  his  heart  was 
full  of  hope,  he  too  contrived  to  look  pale  and  spent  and 
panic-stricken  at  will— he  heard  the  shouts  of  terror,  the 
hastily  murmured  "All  is  lost!  even  the  British  can  no 
longer  stand !"  as  horses  maddened  with  fright  bore  their 
half-senseless  riders  by.  He  set  his  teeth  and  rode  on. 
His  dark  eyes  glowed  with  satisfaction ;  there  was  no  fear 
that  the  great  gambler  would  stake  his  last  m  vam:  the 
news  would  travel  quick  enough— as  news  of  disaster  al- 
ways will.  Brussels  even  now  must  be  full  of  weeping 
women  and  children,  as  it  soon  would  be  of  terror-driven 


316  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

men,  of  wounded  and  of  maimed  crawling  into  the  shelter 
of  the  town  to  die  in  peace. 

And  as  he  rode,  de  Marmont  thought  more  and  more  of 
Crystal,  The  last  three  months  had  only  enhanced  his  pas- 
sionate love  for  her  and  his  maddening  desire  to  win  her 
yet  at  all  costs.  St.  Genis  would  of  course  be  fighting  to- 
day. Perchance  a  convenient  shot  would  put  him  effectively 
out  of  the  way.  De  Marmont  had  vainly  tried  in  this  wild 
gallopade  to  distinguish  his  rival's  face  among  this  mass  of 
foreigners. 

As  for  the  Englishman!  Well!  no  doubt  he  had  disap- 
peared long  ago  out  of  Crystal  de  Cambray's  life.  De  Mar- 
mont had  never  feared  him  greatly.  That  one  look  of  un- 
derstanding between  Crystal  and  Clyffurde,  and  the  latter's 
strange  conduct  about  the  money  at  the  inn,  were  alone  re- 
sponsible for  the  few  twinges  of  jealousy  which  de  Mar- 
mont had  experienced  in  that  quarter. 

Indeed,  the  Englishman  was  a  negligible  quantity.  De 
Marmont  did  not  fear  him.  There  was  only  St.  Genis,  and 
with  the  royalist  cause  rendered  absolutely  hopeless — as  it 
would  be,  as  it  must  be — St.  Genis  and  the  Comte  de  Cam* 
bray  and  all  those  stiff-necked  aristocrats  of  the  old  regime 
who  had  thought  fit  to  turn  their  proud  backs  on  him  at 
Brestalou  three  months  ago,  would  be  irretrievably  ruined 
and  discredited  and  would  have  to  fly  the  country  once 
more  .  .  .  and  Crystal,  faced  with  the  alternative  of  penury 
in  England  or  a  brilliant  existence  at  the  Tuileries  as  the 
wife  of  the  Emperor's  most  faithful  friend,  would  make  her 
choice  as  he — de  Marmont — never  doubted  that  any  woman 
would. 

Hope  for  him  had  already  become  reality.  Brussels  was 
the  half-way  halt  to  the  uttermost  heights  of  his  ambition. 
Fortune,  the  Emperor's  gratitude,  the  woman  he  loved,  all 
waited  for  him  there.  He  reached  the  city  just  as  that  dis- 
tant horizon  in  the  west  was  lit  up  by  a  streak  of  brilliant 


THE  LAST  THROW  SI7 

crimson  from  the  fast  sinking  sun :  just  when— had  he  but 
known  it! — on  the  crest  of  Mont  Saint  Jean,  WeUington 
had  waved  his  hat  over  his  head  and  given  the  heroic  Brit- 
ish army — exhausted,  but  undaunted — the  order  for  a  gen- 
eral charge ;  just  when  the  Grand  Army,  finally  checked  in 
its  advance,  had  first  set  up  the  ominous  call  that  was 
like  the  passing-bell  of  its  dying  glory:    "Sauve  qui  pent!" 

Ill 

"Sauve  qui  peut !" 

Bobby  Clyffurde  heard  the  cry  too  through  the  fast  gath- 
ering shadows  of  unconsciousness  that  closed  in  round  his 
wearied  senses,  and,  as  a  film  that  was  so  like  the  kindly 
veil  of  approaching  Death  spread  over  his  eyes,  he  raised 
them  up  just  once  to  that  vivid  crimson  glow  far  out  in 
the  west,  and  on  the  winged  chariot  of  the  setting  sun  he 
sent  up  his  last  sigh  of  gratitude  to  God.  All  day  he  had 
called  for  Death — all  day  he  had  wooed  her  there  where 
bullets  and  grape-shot  were  thickest — where  her  huge  scythe 
bad  been  most  busily  at  work. 

Sons  of  fond  mothers,  husbands,  sweethearts  that  were 
dearly  loved,  brothers  that  would  be  endlessly  mourned, 
lives  that  were  more  precious  than  any  earthly  treasures— 
the  ghostly  harvester  claimed  them  all  with  impartial 
cruelty.  And  he — desolate  and  lonely— with  no  one  greatly 
to  care  if  he  came  back  or  no— with  not  a  single  golden 
thread  of  hope  to  which  he  might  cling,  without  a  dream 
to  brighten  the  coming  days  of  dreariness— with  a  life 
in  the  future  that  could  hold  nothing  but  vain  regrets 
Bobby  had  sought  Death  twenty  times  to-day  and  Death  had 

resolutely  passed  him  by.  1      1  r  1  *u  t 

But  now  he  was  grateful  for  that:  he  was  thankful  that 
he  had  lived  just  long  enough  to  see  the  sunset,  J"st  long 
enough  to  take  part  in  that  last  glorious  charge  in  obedience 
to  Wellington's  inspiring  command:    "Up.  guards,  and  at 


318  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

them !"  he  was  glad  to  have  lived  just  long  enough  to  hear 
the  "Sauve  qui  peut!"  to  know  that  the  Grand  Army  was 
in  full  retreat,  that  Bliicher  had  come  up  in  time,  that 
British  pluck  and  British  endurance  had  won  the  greatest 
victory  of  all  times  for  Britain's  flag  and  her  national  ex- 
istence. 

Now  with  a  rough  bandage  hastily  tied  round  his  head 
where  grape-shot  had  lacerated  cheek  and  ear,  with  a  bayo- 
net thrust  in  the  thigh  and  another  in  the  arm,  Bobby  had 
remained  lying  there  with  many  thousands  round  him  as 
silent,  as  uncomplaining,  as  he — in  the  down-trodden  corn — ' 
and  with  the  tramp  of  thousands  of  galloping,  fleeing 
horses,  the  clash  of  steel  and  fusillade  of  tirailleurs  and 
artillery  reaching  his  dimmed  senses  like  a  distant  echo  from 
the  land  of  ghosts.  And  before  his  eyes — half  veiled  in 
unconsciousness,  there  flitted  the  tender,  delicate  vision  of 
Crystal  de  Cambray:  of  her  blue  eyes  and  soft  fair  hair, 
done  up  in  a  quaint  mass  of  tiny  curls;  of  the  scarf  of 
filmy  lace  which  she  always  liked  to  wrap  round  her  shoul- 
ders, and  through  the  lace  the  pearly  sheen  of  her  skin, 
of  her  arms,  and  of  her  throat.  The  air  around  him  had 
become  pure  and  rarified :  that  horrible  stench  of  powder 
and  smoke  and  blood  no  longer  struck  his  nostrils — it  was 
roses,  roses  all  around  him — crimson  roses — sweet  and  ca- 
ressing and  fragrant — with  soft,  velvety  petals  that  brushed 
agaipst  his  cheek — and  from  somewhere  close  by  came  a 
dreamy  melody,  the  half-sad,  half-gay  lilt  of  an  intoxicating 
dance. 

It  was  delicious !  and  Bobby,  wearied,  sore  and  aching  in 
body,  felt  his  soul  lifted  to  some  exquisite  heights  which 
were  not  yet  heaven,  of  course,  but  which  must  of  a  truth 
form  the  very  threshold  of  Paradise. 

He  saw  Crystal  more  and  more  clearly  every  moment: 
now  he  was  looking  straight  into  her  blue  eyes,  and  her  little 
hand,  cool  and  white  as  snow,  rested  upon  his  burning  fore- 


THE  LAST  THROW  8I9 

head.  She  smiled  on  him — as  on  a  friend — there  was  no 
contempt,  no  harshness  in  her  look — only  a  great,  consoling 
pity  and  something  that  seemed  like  an  appeal ! 

Yes !  the  longer  he  himself  looked  into  those  blue  eyes  of 
hers,  the  more  sure  he  was  that  there  was  an  appeal  in  them. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  needed  him,  in  a  way  that  she 
had  never  needed  him  before.  Apparently  she  could  not 
speak :  she  could  not  tell  him  what  it  was  she  wanted :  but 
her  little  hands  seemed  to  draw  him  up,  out  of  the  trodden, 
trampled  com,  and  having  soothed  his  aches  and  pains  they 
seemed  to  impel  him  to  do  something — that  was  important 
.  .  .  and  imperative  .  .  .  something  that  she  wanted 
done. 

He  begged  her  to  let  him  lie  here  in  peace,  for  he  was 
now  comforted  and  happy.  He  was  quite  sure  now  that  he 
was  dead,  that  her  sweet  face  had  been  the  last  tangible 
vision  which  he  had  seen  on  earth,  ere  he  closed  his  eyes 
in  the  last  long  sleep. 

He  had  seen  her  and  she  had  gone.  All  of  a  sudden  she 
had  vanished,  and  darkness  was  closing  in  around  him: 
the  scent  of  roses  faded  into  the  air,  which  was  now  filled 
again  with  horrid  sounds — the  deafening  roar  of  cannon, 
the  sharp  and  incessant  retort  of  rifle-fire,  the  awesome 
melee  of  cries  and  groans  and  bugle-calls  and  sighs  of 
agony,  and  one  deafening  cry— so  like  the  last  wail  of  de- 
parting souls — which  came  from  somewhere— not  very  far 
away:    "Vive  I'Empereur!" 

Bobby  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture.  His  head 
ached  terribly— he  was  stiff  in  every  limb :  a  burning,  almost 
intolerable  pain  gnawed  at  his  thigh  and  at  his  left  arm. 
But  consciousness  had  returned  and  with  it  all  the  knowl- 
edge of  what  this  day  had  meant:  all  round  him  there  was 
the  broken  corn,  stained  with  blood  and  mud,  all  round  him 
lay  the  dead  and  the  dying  in  their  thousands.    Far  away 


320  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

in  the  west  a  crimson  glow  like  fire  lit  up  this  vast  hecatomb 
of  brave  lives  sacrificed,  this  final  agony  of  the  vast  Em- 
pire, the  might  and  grandeur  of  one  man  laid  low  this 
day  by  the  mightier  hand  of  God. 

It  lit  up  with  the  weird  light  of  the  dying  day  the  pallid, 
clean-shaven  faces  of  gallant  British  boys,  the  rugged  faces 
of  the  Scot,  the  olive  skin  of  the  child  of  Provence,  the 
bronzed  cheeks  of  old  veterans :  it  threw  its  lurid  glow  on  red 
coats  and  black  coats,  white  facings  and  gilt  epaulettes;  it 
drew  sparks  as  of  still-living  fire  from  breastplates  and 
broken  swords,  discarded  casques  and  bayonets,  sabretaches 
and  kilts  and  bugles  and  drums,  and  dead  horses  and  arms 
and  accoutrements  and  dead  and  dying  men,  all  lying  pell- 
mell  in  a  huge  litter  with  the  glow  of  midsummer  sunset 
upon  them — poor  little  chessmen — pawns  and  knights — 
castles  of  strength  and  kings  of  some  lonely  mourning 
hearts — all  swept  together  by  the  Almighty  hand  of  the 
Great  Master  of  this  terrestrial  game. 

But  with  returning  consciousness  Bobby's  gaze  took  in  a 
wider  range  of  vision.  He  visualised  exactly  where  he  was 
— on  the  south  slope  of  Mont  Saint  Jean  with  La  Haye 
Sainte  on  ahead  a  little  to  his  left,  and  the  whitewashed 
walls  of  La  Belle  Alliance  still  further  away  gleaming 
golden  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 

He  saw  that  on  the  wide  road  which  leads  to  Genappe 
and  Charleroi  the  once  invincible  cavalry  of  the  mighty 
Emperor  was  fleeing  helter-skelter  from  the  scene  of  its 
disaster:  he  saw  that  the  British — what  was  left  of  them 
— were  in  hot  pursuit!  He  saw  from  far  Plancenoit  the 
scintillating  casques  of  Bliicher's  Prussians. 

And  on  the  left  a  detachment  of  allied  troops — Dutch, 
Belgian,  Brunswickers — had  just  started  down  the  slope  of 
the  plateau  to  join  in  this  death-dealing  pell-mell,  where 
amongst  the  litter  of  dead  and  dying,  in  the  confusion  of 
pursuer  and  pursued,  comrade  fought  at  times  against  com- 


THE  LAST  THROW  321 

rade,  brother  fired  on  brother — Prussian  against  British. 

Down  below  behind  the  farm  buildings  of  La  Haye 
Sainte  two  battalions  of  chasseurs  of  the  Old  Guard  had 
made  a  stand  around  a  tattered  bit  of  tricolour  and  the 
bronze  eagle — symbol  of  so  much  decadent  grandeur  and 
of  such  undying  glory.  "A  moi  chasseurs,"  brave  General 
Pelet  had  cried.  "Let  us  save  the  eagle  or  die  beneath  its 
wing." 

And  those  who  heard  this  last  call  of  despair  stopped 
in  their  headlong  flight;  they  forged  a  way  for  themselves 
through  the  mass  of  running  horses  and  men,  they  rallied 
to  their  flag,  and  with  their  tirailleurs — kneeling  on  one 
knee — ranged  in  a  circle  round  them,  they  now  formed  a 
living  bulwark  for  their  eagle,  of  dauntless  breasts  and  bris- 
tling bayonets. 

And  upon  this  mass  of  desperate  men,  the  small  body  of 
raw  Dutch  and  Belgian  and  German  troops  now  hurled 
themselves  with  wild  huzzas  and  blind  impetuousness. 
Against  this  mass  of  heroes  and  of  conquerors  in  a  dozen 
victorious  campaigns — men  who  had  no  longer  anything  to 
lose  but  life,  and  to  whom  life  meant  less  than  nothing  now 
— against  them  a  handful  of  half-trained  recruits,  drunk 
with  the  cry  of  "Victory"  which  drowned  the  roar  of  the 
cannon  and  the  clash  of  sabres,  drunk  with  the  vision  of 
glory  which  awaited  them  if  that  defiant  eagle  were  brought 
to  earth  by  them! 

And  as  Bobby  staggered  to  his  feet  he  already  saw  the 
impending  catastrophe— one  of  the  many  on  this  day  of 
cumulative  disasters.  He  saw  the  Dutch  and  the  Belgians 
and  the  Brunswickers  rush  wildly  to  the  charge— young 
men— enthusiasts— brave— but  men  whose  ranks  had  twice 
been  broken  to-day— who  twice  had  rallied  to  their  colours 
and  then  had  broken  again— men  who  were  exhausted- 
men  who  were  none  too  ably  led— men  in  fact— and  there 
were  many  French  royalists  among  their  officers— who  had 


322  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

not  the  physical  power  of  endurance  which  had  enabled  the 
British  to  astonish  the  world  to-day. 

Bobby  could  see  amongst  them  the  Brunswickers  and  their 
black  coats — ^he  would  have  known  them  amongst  millions 
of  men.  The  full  brilliance  of  the  evening  glow  was  upon 
them — on  their  black  coats  and  the  silver  galoons  and  tas- 
sels; two  of  their  officers  had  made  a  brave  show  in  Brus- 
sels three  days — or  was  it  a  hundred  years? — ago  at  the 
Duchess  of  Richmond's  ball.  Bobby  remembered  them 
so  well,  for  one  of  these  two  officers  was  Maurice  de  St. 
Genis. 

Oh !  how  Crystal  would  love  to  see  him  now — even  though 
her  dear  heart  would  be  torn  with  anxiety  for  him — for  he 
was  fighting  bravely,  bravely  and  desperately  as  every  one 
had  fought  to-day,  as  these  chasseurs  of  the  Old  Guard — 
just  the  few  of  them  that  remained — were  fighting  still  even 
at  this  hour  round  that  tattered  flag  and  that  bronze  eagle, 
and  with  the  cry  of  "Vive  I'Empereur !"  dying  upon  their  lips. 

Despair  indeed  on  both  sides — even  at  this  hour  when 
the  merest  incident  might  yet  turn  the  issue  of  this  world- 
conflict  one  way  or  the  other.  Bobby,  as  he  steadied  him- 
self on  his  feet,  had  seen  that  the  attack  was  already  turn- 
ing into  a  rout.  Not  only  had  Pelet's  chasseurs  held  the 
Dutch  and  Brunswickers  at  bay,  not  only  had  their  tirail- 
leurs made  deadly  havoc  among  their  assailants,  but  the  lat- 
ter now  were  threatened  with  absolute  annihilation  even 
whilst  all  around  them  their  allies — British  and  Prussian 
— were  crying  "Victory !" 

Bobby  could  see  them  quite  clearly — for  he  saw  with 
that  subtle  and  delicate  sense  which  only  a  great  and  pure 
passion  can  give! — he  saw  the  danger  at  the  very  moment 
when  it  was  born — at  the  precise  instant  when  it  threat- 
ened that  handful  of  black-coated  men,  one  of  whose  of- 
ficers was  named  St.  Genis.  He  saw  the  first  sign  of  waver- 
ing, of  stupefaction,  that  followed  the  impetuous  charge: 


THE  LAST  THROW  S2S 

he  saw  the  gaps  in  the  ranks  after  that  initial  deadly  vol- 
ley from  the  tirailleurs.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  he  could 
hear  those  shouts  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  and  the  rallying 
cry  of  commanding  officers — it  was  all  so  near — not  more 
than  three  hundred  yards  away,  and  the  clear,  stormy 
atmosphere  carried  sights  and  sounds  upon  its  wing. 

Another  volley  from  the  tirailleurs  and  the  Dutch  and 
Brunswickers  turned  to  fly:  in  vain  did  their  officers  call, 
they  wanted  to  get  away!  They  tried  to  fly — to  run,  for 
now  the  chasseurs  were  at  them  with  bayonets — they  tried 
to  run,  but  the  ground  was  littered  with  their  own  wounded 
and  dead — with  the  wounded  and  the  dead  of  a  long  day 
of  carnage :  they  stumbled  at  every  step — fell  over  the  dying 
and  the  wounded — over  dead  and  wounded  horses — over 
piles  of  guns  and  swords  and  bayonets,  and  sabretaches, 
over  forsaken  guns  and  broken  carriages,  litter  that  im- 
peded them  in  front  even  as  they  were  driven  with  the 
bayonet  from  the  rear. 

Bobby  saw  it  all,  for  they  were  coming  now — pursued 
and  pursuers — as  fast  as  ever  they  could ;  they  were  com- 
ing, these  flying,  black-coated  men,  casting  away  their  gay 
trappings  as  well  as  their  arms,  trying  to  run — to  get  away 
—but  stumbling,  falling  all  the  time— picking  themselves 
up,  falling  and  running  again. 

And  in  that  one  short  moment  while  the  whole  brief 
tragedy  was  enacted  before  his  eyes,  Bobby  also  saw,  m  a 
vision  that  was  equally  swift  and  fleeting,  the  blue  eyes  of 
Crystal  drowned  in  tears.  He  saw  her  with  fair  head 
drooping  like  a  lily,  he  saw  the  quiver  of  her  lips,  heard  the 
moan  of  pain  that  would  come  to  her  lips  when  the  man 
she  loved  was  brought  home  to  her— dead.  And  m  that 
same  second— so  full  of  portent— Bobby  understood  why 
it  was  that  her  sweet  image  had  called  to  him  for  help 
just  now.  Again  she  called,  again  she  beckoned— her  blue 
eyes  looked  on  him  with  an  appeal  that  was  all-compelling: 


324.  THE  BBONZE  EAGLE 

her  two  dear  hands  were  clasped  and  she  begged  of  him  that 
he  should  be  her  friend. 

Such  visions  come  from  God !  no  man  sees  them  save  he 
whose  soul  is  great  and  whose  heart  is  pure.  Poor  Bobby 
Clyffurde — lonely,  heart-broken,  desolate — saw  the  exquisite 
face  that  he  would  have  loved  to  kiss — he  saw  it  with  the 
golden  glow  of  evening  upon  the  delicate  cheeks,  and  with 
the  lurid  light  of  fire  and  battle  upon  the  soft,  fair  hair. 

And  the  greatness  of  his  love  helped  him  to  understand 
what  life  still  held  for  him — ^the  happiness  of  supreme 
sacrifice. 

All  around  him  was  death,  but  there  was  some  life  too : 
one  or  two  poor,  abandoned  riderless  horses  were  quietly 
picking  bits  of  corn  from  between  the  piles  of  dead  and 
dying  men,  or  were  standing,  sniffing  the  air  with  dilated 
nostrils,  and  snorting  with  terror  at  the  deafening  noise. 
Bobby  had  steadied  himself,  neither  his  head  nor  his  limbs 
were  aching  now — at  any  rate  he  had  forgotten  them — all 
that  he  remembered  was  what  he  saw,  those  black-coated 
Brunswickers  who  longer  to  fly  and  could  not  and  who  were 
being  slaughtered  like  insects  even  as  they  stumbled  and 
fled. 

And  Bobby  caught  the  bridle  of  one  of  these  poor,  terror- 
stricken  beasts  that  stood  snorting  and  sniffing  not  far 
away:  he  crawled  up  into  the  saddle,  for  his  thigh  was 
numb  and  one  of  his  arms  helpless.  But  once  on  horse- 
back he  could  get  along — over  trampled  corn  and  over  the 
dead — on  toward  that  hideous  corner  behind  the  farm  of 
La  Haye  Sainte  where  desperate  men  were  butchering 
others  that  were  more  desperate  than  they — in  among  that 
seething  crowd  of  black  coats  and  fur  bonnets,  of  silver  tas- 
sels and  of  brass  eagles,  into  a  whirlpool  of  swords  and 
bayonets  and  gun-fire  from  the  tirailleurs — for  there  he 
had  seen  the  man  whom  Crystal  loved — for  whose  sake 
she  would  eat  out  her  heart  with  mourning  and  regret. 


THE  LAST  THROW  8f5 

In  the  deafening  noise  of  shrieking  and  sighs  and  whiz- 
zing bullets  and  cries  of  agony  he  heard  Crystal's  voice 
telling  him  what  to  do.  Already  he  had  seen  St.  Genis 
struggling  on  his  knees  not  fifty  metres  away  from  the  first 
line  of  tirailleurs,  not  a  hundred  from  the  advancing  steel 
wall  of  fixed  bayonets.  Maurice  had  thrown  back  his  head, 
in  the  hopelessness  of  his  despair;  the  evening  sun  fell  full 
upon  his  haggard,  blood-stained  face,  upon  his  wide-open 
eyes  filled  with  the  terror  of  death.  The  next  moment 
Bobby  Clyffurde  was  by  his  side ;  all  around  him  bullets  were 
whizzing — all  around  him  men  sighed  their  last  sigh  of 
agony.  He  stooped  over  his  saddle :  "Can  you  pull  your- 
self up  ?"  he  called.  And  with  his  one  sound  arm  he  caught 
Maurice  by  the  elbow  and  helped  him  to  struggle  to  his 
feet.  The  horse,  dazed  with  terror,  snorted  at  the  smell  of 
blood,  but  he  did  not  move.  Maurice,  equally  dazed,  scram- 
bled into  the  saddle — almost  inert — a  dead  weight— a  thing 
that  impeded  progress  and  movement;  but  the  thing  that 
Crystal  loved  above  all  things  on  earth  and  which  Bobby 
knew  he  must  wrest  out  of  these  devouring  jaws  of  Death 
and  lay — safe  and  sound — within  the  shelter  of  her  arms. 


IV 

After  that  it  meant  a  struggle— not  for  his  own  life,  for 
indeed  he  cared  little  enough  for  that— but  for  the  sake 
of  the  burden  which  he  was  carrying— a  burden  of  mfinite 
preciousness  since  Crystal's  heart  and  happiness  were 
bound  up  with  it.  .         •  u 

Maurice  de  St.  Genis  clung  half  inert  to  him  with  on« 
hand  gripping  the  saddle-bow,  the  other  clutching  Bobby  s 
belt  with  convulsive  tenacity.  Bobby  himself  was  onl> 
half  conscious,  dazed  with  the  pain  of  wounds,  the  exer- 
tion of  hoisting  that  dead  weight  across  his  saddle,  the  deat- 
ening  noise  of  whizzing  bullets  round  him.  the  boring  oi 


S26  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

the  frightened  horse  against  its  bridle,  as  it  tried  to  pick  its 
way  through  the  tangled  heaps  upon  the  ground. 

But  every  moment  lessened  the  danger  from  stray  bullets, 
and  the  chance  of  the  bayonet  charge  from  behind.  The 
cries  of  "Vive  I'Empereur !"  round  that  still  standing  eagle 
were  drowned  in  the  medley  and  confusion  of  hundreds  of 
other  sounds.  Bobby  was  just  able  to  guide  his  horse  away 
from  the  spots  where  the  fighting  was  most  hot  and  fierce, 
where  Vivian's  hussars  attacked  those  two  battalions  of 
cuirassiers,  where  Adam's  brigade  of  artillery  turned  the 
flank  of  the  chasseurs  and  laid  the  proud  bronze  eagle  low, 
where  Ney  and  the  Old  Guard  were  showing  to  the  rest  of 
the  Grand  Army  how  grizzled  veterans  fought  and  died. 

He  rode  straight  up  the  plateau,  however,  but  well  to  the 
right  now,  picking  his  way  carefully  with  that  blind  instinct 
which  the  tracked  beast  possesses  and  which  the  hunted  man 
sometimes  receives  from  God. 

The  dead  and  the  dying  were  less  thick  here  upon  the 
ground.  It  was  here  that  earlier  in  the  day  the  Dutch  and 
the  Belgians  and  the  Brunswickers  had  supported  the 
British  left,  during  those  terrific  cavalry  charges  which 
British  endurance  and  tenacity  had  alone  been  able  to  with- 
stand. It  was  here  that  Hacke's  Cumberland  Hussars  had 
broken  their  ranks  and  fled,  taking  to  Brussels  and  thence 
to  Ghent  the  news  of  terrific  disaster.  Bobby's  lips  were 
tight  set  and  he  snorted  like  a  war-horse  when  he  thought 
of  that — when  he  thought  of  the  misery  and  sorrow  that 
must  be  reigning  in  Brussels  now — and  of  the  consternation 
at  Ghent  where  the  poor  old  Bourbon  King  was  probably 
mourning  his  dead  hopes  and  his  vanished  throne. 

In  Brussels  women  would  be  weeping;  and  Crystal — for- 
lorn and  desolate — would  perhaps  be  sitting  at  her  window 
watching  the  stream  of  fugitives  that  came  in — ^wounded 
and  exhausted — from  the  field  of  battle,  recounting  tales  of 
a  catastrophe  which  had  no  parallel  in  modern  times :  and 


THE  LAST  THROW 


MT 


Crystal,  seeing  and  hearing  this,  would  think  of  the  man  she 
loved,  and  believing  him  to  be  dead  would  break  her  heart 
with  sorrow. 

And  when  Bobby  thought  of  that  he  was  spurred  to  fresh 
effort,  and  he  pulled  himself  together  witH  a  desperate  ten- 
sion of  every  nerve  and  sinew,  fighting  exhaustion,  ignoring 
pain,  conjuring  up  the  vision  of  Crystal's  blue  eyes  and  her 
pleading  look  as  she  begged  him  to  save  her  from  lifelong 
sorrow  and  the  anguish  of  future  loneliness.  Then  he  no 
longer  heard  the  weird  and  incessant  cannonade,  he  no 
longer  saw  the  desolation  of  this  utter  confusion  around 
him,  he  no  longer  felt  exhausted,  or  the  weight  of  that  life- 
less, impeding  burden  upon  his  saddle-bow. 

Stray  bands  of  fugitives  with  pursuers  hot  on  their  heels 
passed  him  by,  stray  bullets  flew  to  right  and  left  of  him, 
whizzing  by  with  their  eerie,  whistling  sound ;  he  was  now 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  great  pursuit — anon  he  reached 
the  crest  of  Mont  Saint  Jean  at  last,  and  almost  blindly 
struck  back  eastward  in  the  direction  of  the  forest  of 
Soigne. 

It  was  blind  instinct — and  nothing  more — that  kept  him 
on  his  horse:  he  clung  to  his  saddle  with  half-paralysed 
knees,  just  as  a  drowning  man  will  clutch  a  floating  bit  of 
wreckage  that  helps  him  to  keep  his  head  above  the  water. 
The  stately  trees  of  Soigne  were  not  far  ahead  now: 
through  the  forest  any  track  that  bore  to  the  left  would 
strike  the  Brussels  road ;  only  a  little  more  strength— an- 
other effort  or  two— the  cool  solitude  of  the  wood  would 
ease  the  weight  of  the  burden  and  the  throbbing  of  nerves 
and  brain.  The  setting  sun  shone  full  upon  the  leafy  edge 
of  the  wood ;  hazelnut  and  beech  and  oak  and  clumps  of 
briar  rose  quivered  under  the  rough  kiss  of  the  wmd  that 
blew  straight  across  the  lowland  from  the  southwest, 
bringing  with  it  still  the  confusion  of  sounds— the  weir(. 
cannonades  and  dismal  bugle-calls— in  such  strange  contrast 


328  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

to  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  and  the  crackling  of  tiny  twigs 
in  the  tangled  coppice. 

How  cool  and  delicious  it  must  be  under  those  trees — and 
there  was  a  narrow  track  which  must  lead  straight  to  the 
Brussels  road — the  ground  looked  soft  and  mossy  and  damp 
after  the  rain — oh!  for  the  strength  to  reach  those  leafy 
shadows,  to  plunge  under  that  thicket  and  brush  with  burn- 
ing forehead  against  those  soft  green  leaves  heavy  .with 
moisture !  Oh !  for  the  power  to  annihilate  this  distance  of 
a  few  hundred  yards  that  lie  between  this  immense  grave- 
yard open  to  wind  and  scorching  sun,  and  the  green,  cool 
moss  and  carpet  of  twigs  and  leaves  and  soft,  sweet-smelling 
earth,  on  which  a  weary  body  and  desolate  soul  might  find 
eternal  rest!  .  .  . 


On  !  on !  through  the  forest  of  Soigne !  There  was  no  ques- 
tion as  yet  of  rest. 

Maurice  had  not  yet  wakened  from  his  trance.  Bobby 
vaguely  wondered  if  he  were  not  already  dead.  There  was 
no  stain  of  blood  upon  his  fine  uniform,  but  it  was  just 
possible  that  in  stumbling,  running  and  falling  he  had  hit 
his  head  or  received  a  blow  which  had  deprived  him  of 
consciousness  directly  after  he  had  scrambled  into  the 
saddle. 

Bobby  remembered  how  pale  and  haggard  he  had  looked 
and  how  his  hand  had  by  th^  merest  instinct  clutched 
at  the  saddle-bow,  and  then  had  dropped  away  from  it — 
helpless  and  inert.  Now  he  lay  quite  still  with  his  head 
resting  against  Bobby's  shoulder. 

Under  the  trees  it  was  cool  and  the  air  was  sweet  and 
soothing:  Bobby  with  his  left  hand  contrived  to  tear  a 
handful  of  leaves  from  the  coppice  as  he  passed:  they 
were  full  of  moisture  and  he  pressed  them  against  Maurice's 
lips  and  against  his  own. 


THE  LAST  THROW  9S9 

The  forest  was  full  of  sounds:  of  running  men  and 
horses,  the  rattle  of  wheels,  and  the  calls  of  terror  and  of 
pain,  with  still  and  always  that  awesome  background  of 
persistent  cannonade.  But  Bobby  heard  nothing,  saw  noth- 
ing save  the  narrow  track  in  front  of  him,  along  which 
the  horse  now  ambled  leisurely,  and  from  time  to  time — • 
when  he  looked  down — the  pale,  haggard  face  of  the  man 
whom  Crystal  loved. 

At  one  moment  Maurice  opened  his  eyes  and  murmured 
feebly:    "Where  am  I?" 

"On  the  way  to  Brussels,"  Bobby  contrived  to  reply. 

A  little  later  on  horse  and  rider  emerged  out  of  the  wood 
and  the  Brussels  road  stretched  out  its  long  straight  ribbon 
before  Bobby  Clyffurde's  dull,  uncomprehending  gaze. 

Close  by  at  his  feet  the  milestone  marked  the  last  six 
kilometres  to  Brussels.  Only  another  half-dozen  kilometres 
— only  another  hour's  ride  at  most!  .  .  .  Only!!!  .  .  . 
when  even  now  he  felt  that  the  next  few  minutes  must 
see  him  tumbling  head-foremost  from  the  saddle. 

Far  away  beyond  the  milestone  on  his  right — in  a 
meadow,  the  boundary  of  which  touched  the  edge  of  the 
wood — women  were  busy  tossing  hay  after  the  rain,  all 
unconscious  of  the  simple  little  tragedy  that  was  being  en- 
acted so  close  to  them :  their  cotton  dresses  and  the  kerchiefs 
round  their  heads  stood  out  as  trenchant,  vivid  notes  of 
colour  against  the  dull  grey  landscape  beyond.  A  couple 
of  haycarts  were  standing  by:  beside  them  two  men  were 
lighting  their  pipes.  The  wind  was  playing  with  the  hay 
as  the  women  tossed  it,  and  their  shrill  laughter  came  echo- 
ing across  the  meadow. 

And  even  now  the  ground  was  shaken  with  the  reper- 
cussion of  distant  volleys  of  artillery,  and  along  the  road 
a  stream  of  men  were  running  toward  Brussels,  horses 
galloped  by  frightened  and  riderless,  or  dragging  broken 
gun-carriages  behind  them  in  the  mud.    The  whole  of  that 


330  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

stream  .was  carrying  the  news  of  Wellington's  disaster  to 
Brussels  and  to  Ghent:  not  knowing  that  behind  them  had 
already  sounded  the  passing  bell  for  the  Empire  of  France. 

Bobby  had  drawn  rein  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  to  give 
his  horse  a  rest,  and  for  a  while  he  watched  that  running 
stream,  longing  to  shout  to  them  to  turn  back — there  was 
no  occasion  to  run — to  see  what  had  been  done,  to  take  a 
share  in  that  glorious,  final  charge  for  victory.  But  his 
throat  was  too  parched  for  a  shout,  and  as  he  watched,  he 
saw  in  among  a  knot  of  mounted  men — fugitives  like  the 
others,  pale  of  face,  anxious  of  mien  and  with  that  intent 
look  which  men  have  when  life  is  precious  and  has  got 
to  be  saved — he  saw  a  man  in  the  same  uniform  that  St. 
Genis  wore — a  Brunswicker  in  black  coat  and  silver  galoons 
— who  stared  at  him,  persistently  and  strangely,  as  he 
rode  by. 

The  face  though  much  altered  by  three  days'  growth 
of  beard,  and  by  the  set  of  the  shako  worn  right  down 
to  the  brows,  was  nevertheless  a  familiar  one.  Bobby — 
stupefied,  deprived  for  the  moment  of  thinking  powers, 
through  sheer  exhaustion  and  burning  pain — taxed  his 
weary  brain  in  vain  to  understand  the  look  of  recognition 
which  the  man  in  the  black  uniform  cast  upon  him  as  he 
passed. 

Until  a  lightly  spoken:  "Hullo,  my  dear  Clyffurde!" 
uttered  gaily  as  the  rider  drew  near  to  the  edge  of  tlie  road, 
brought  the  name  of  "Victor  de  Marmont!"  to  Bobby's 
quivering  lips. 

And  just  for  the  space  of  sixty  seconds  Fate  rubbed 
her  gaunt  hands  complacently  together,  seeing  that  she  had 
brought  these  three  men  together — here  on  this  spot — 
three  men  who  loved  the  same  woman,  each  with  the  ut- 
most ardour  and  passion  at  his  command — each  even  at 
this  very  moment  striving  to  win  her  and  to  work  for  her 
happiness. 


THE  LAST  THROW  S81 

Behind  them  in  the  plains  of  Waterloo  the  cannon  still 
was  roaring:  de  Marmont  was  on  his  way  to  redeem  the 
fallen  fortunes  of  the  hero  whom  he  worshipped  and  to 
win  imperial  regard,  imperial  favours,  fortune  and  glory 
wherewith  to  conquer  a  girl's  obstinacy.  St.  Genis — pale 
and  unconscious — seemed  even  in  his  unconsciousness  to 
defy  the  power  of  any  rival  by  the  might  of  early  love, 
of  old  associations,  of  similarity  of  caste  and  of  political 
ideals.  He  had  fought  for  the  cause  which  she  and  he  had 
both  equally  at  heart  and  by  his  very  helplessness  now  he 
seemed  to  prove  that  he  could  do  no  more  than  he  had  done 
and  that  he  had  the  right  to  claim  the  solace  and  com- 
fort which  her  girlish  lips  and  her  girlish  love  had  promised 
him  long  ago. 

Whilst  Bobby  had  nothing  to  promise  and  nothing  to 
give  save  devotion — his  hope,  his  desire  and  his  love  were 
bounded  by  her  happiness.  And  since  her  happiness  lay  in 
the  life  of  the  man  whom  he  had  dragged  out  of  the  jaws 
of  Death,  what  greater  proof  could  he  give  of  his  love 
than  to  lay  down  his  life  for  him  and  for  her? 

De  Marmont's  keen  eyes  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance : 
he  threw  a  quick  look  of  savage  hatred  on  St.  Genis  and 
cast  one  of  contemptuous  pity  on  Clyffurde.  Then  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  light,  triumphant  laugh,  he 
set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rode  swiftly  away. 

Bobby's  lack-lustre  eyes  followed  horse  and  rider  down 
the  road  till  they  grew  smaller  and  smaller  still  and  finally 
disappeared  in  the  distance.  For  a  moment  he  felt  puz- 
zled. What  was  de  Marmont  doing  in  this  stream  of  sense- 
less, panic-stricken  men?  What  was  he  doing  in  the  uni- 
form of  one  of  the  Allied  nations?  Why  had  he  laughed 
so  gaily  and  appeared  so  triumphant  in  his  mien? 

Did  he  not  know  then  that  his  hero  had  fallen  along 
with  his  mighty  eagle?  that  the  brief  adventure  begun  in 
the  gulf  of  Jouan  had  ended  in  a  hopeless  tragedy  on  the 


332  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

field  of  Waterloo?  But  why  that  uniform?  Poor  Bobby's 
head  ached  too  much  to  allow  him  to  think,  and  time  was 
getting  on. 

The  road  now  was  deserted.  The  last  of  the  fugitives 
formed  but  a  cloud  of  black  specks  on  the  line  of  the  hori- 
zon far  off  toward  Brussels.  From  the  hayfield  there  came 
the  merry  sound  of  women's  laughter,  while  far  away 
cannon  and  musketry  still  roared.  And  over  the  long, 
straight  road — bordered  with  straight  poplar  trees — ^the  set- 
ting sun  threw  ever-lengthening  shadows. 

Maurice  opened  his  eyes. 

"Where  am  I?"  he  asked  again. 

"Qose  to  Brussels  now,"  replied  Bobby. 

"To  Brussels?"  murmured  St.  Genis  feebly.  "Crys- 
tal!" 

"Yes,"  assented  Bobby.  "Crystal!  Qod  bless  her!" 
Then  as  St.  Genis  was  trying  to  move,  he  added :  "Can  you 
shift  a  little?" 

"I  think  so,"  replied  the  other. 

"If  you  could  ease  the  pressure  on  my  leg  .  .  .  steady, 
now !  steady !  .  .  .  Can  you  sit  up  in  the  saddle  ?  .  .  .  Are 
you  hurt?  .  .  ." 

"Not  much.  My  head  aches  terribly.  I  must  have  hit 
it  against  something.  But  that  is  all.  I  am  only  dizzy 
and  sick." 

"Could  you  ride  on  to  Brussels  alone,  think  you?" 

"Perhaps." 

"It  is  not  far.  The  horse  is  very  quiet.  He  will  amble 
along  if  you  give  him  his  head." 

"But  you?" 

"I'd  like  to  rest.  I'll  find  shelter  in  a  cottage  perhaps 
...  or  in  the  wood." 

St.  Genis  said  nothing  more  for  the  moment.  He  was 
intent  on  sliding  down  from  the  saddle  without  too  much 
assistance  from  Bobby.    When  he  had  reached  the  ground; 


THE  LAST  THROW  88S 

it  took  him  a  little  while  to  collect  himself,  for  his  head 
was  swimming :  he  closed  his  eyes  and  put  out  a  hand  to 
steady  himself  against  a  tree. 

When  Maurice  opened  his  eyes  again,  Bobby  was  sit- 
ting on  the  ground  by  the  roadside :  the  horse  was  nibbling 
a  clump  of  fresh,  green  grass. 

For  the  first  time  since  that  awful  moment  when  stum- 
bling and  falling  against  a  pile  of  dead,  with  Death  behind 
and  all  around  him,  he  had  heard  the  welcome  call :  "Can 
you  pull  yourself  up?"  and  felt  the  steadying  grip  upon 
his  elbow — Maurice  de  St.  Genis  looked  upon  the  man  to 
whom  he  owed  his  life. 

With  that  stained  bandage  round  his  head,  dulled  and 
bloodshot  eyes,  face  blackened  with  powder  and  smoke  and 
features  drawn  and  haggard,  Bobby  Clyffurde  was  indeed 
almost  unrecognisable.  But  Maurice  knew  him  on  the  in- 
stant. Hitherto,  he  had  not  thought  of  how  he  had  come 
out  of  that  terrible  hell-fire  behind  La  Haye  Sainte — in- 
deed, he  had  quickly  lost  consciousness  and  never  regained 
it  till  now:  and  now  he  knew  that  the  same  man  who  in 
the  narrow  hotel  room  near  Lyons  had  ungrudgingly  ren- 
dered him  a  signal  service — had  risked  his  life  to-day  for 
his — Maurice's  sake. 

No  one  could  have  entered  that  awful  melee  and  faced 
the  bayonet  charge  of  Pelet's  cuirassiers  and  the  hail  of 
bullets  from  their  tirailleurs  without  taking  imminent  risk 
of  death.  Yet  Clyfifurde  had  done  it.  Why?  Maurice- 
wide-eyed  and  sullen— could  only  find  one  answer  to  that 
insistent  question. 

That  same  deadly  pang  of  jealousy  which  had  assailed 
his  heart  after  the  midnight  interview  at  the  inn  now  held 
him  in  its  cruel  grip  again.  He  felt  that  he  hated  the 
man  to  whom  he  owed  his  life,  and  that  he  hated  himself 
for  this  mean  and  base  ingratitude.  He  would  not  trust 
himself  to  speak  or  to  look  on  Bobby  at  all,  lest  the  ugly 


334  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

thoughts  which  were  floating  through  his  mind  set  their 
stamp  upon  his  face. 

"Will  you  ride  on  to  Brussels?"  he  said  at  last.  "I  can 
wait  here  .  .  .  and  perhaps  you  could  send  a  conveyance 
for  me  later  on.     M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  would  ..." 

"M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  and  Mademoiselle  Crystal 
are  even  now  devoured  with  anxiety  about  you,"  broke  in 
Clyffurde  as  firmly  as  he  could.  "And  I  could  not  ride 
to  Brussels — even  though  some  one  were  waiting  for  me 
there — I  really  am  not  able  to  ride  further.  I  would  pre- 
fer to  sit  here  and  rest." 

"I  don't  like  to  leave  you  .  .  .  after  .  .  .  after  what  you 
have  done  for  me  ...  I  would  like  to  .  .  ." 

"I  would  like  you  to  scramble  into  that  saddle  and  go," 
retorted  Bobby  with  a  momentary  return  to  his  usual  good- 
natured  irony,  "and  to  leave  me  in  peace." 

"I'll  send  out  a  conveyance  for  you,"  rejoined  St.  Genis. 
"I  know  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  would  wish  .  .  ." 

"Mention  my  name  to  M.  le  Comte  at  your  peril  ..." 
began  Clyffurde. 

"But  .  .  ." 

"By  the  Lord,  man,"  now  exclaimed  Bobby  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  energy,  "if  you  do  not  go,  I  vow  that  sick 
as  I  am,  and  sick  though  you  may  be,  I'll  yet  manage  to 
punch  your  aching  head." 

Then  as  the  other — still  reluctantly — turned  to  take  hold 
of  the  horse's  bridle,  he  added  more  gently:  "Can  you 
mount?" 

"Oh,  yes !    I  am  better  now." 

"You  won't  turn  giddy,  and  fall  off  your  horse  ?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

*Talk  about  the  halt  leading  the  blind !"  murmured  Clyf- 
furde as  he  stretched  himself  out  once  more  upon  the 
soft  ground,  whilst  Maurice  contrived  to  hoist  himself  up 
into  the  saddle.     "Are  you  safe  now?"  he  added  as  the 


THE  LAST  THROW  885 

young  man  collected  the  reins  in  his  hand,  and  planted  his 
feet  firmly  into  the  stirrups. 

"Yes !  I  am  safe  enough,"  replied  St.  Genis.  "It  is  only 
my  head  that  aches :  and  Brussels  is  not  far." 

Then  he  paused  a  moment  ere  he  started  to  go — with 
lips  set  tight  and  looking  down  on  Bobby,  whose  pale  face 
had  taken  on  an  ashen  hue : 

"How  you  must  despise  me,"  he  said  bitterly. 

But  Bobby  made  no  reply:  he  was  just  longing  to  be 
left  alone,  whilst  the  other  still  seemed  inclined  to  linger. 

"Would  to  God,"  Maurice  said  with  a  sigh,  "that  M.  le 
Comte  heard  the  evil  news  from  other  lips  than  mine." 

"Evil  news  ?"  And  Bobby,  whom  semi-consciousness  was 
already  taking  off  once  more  to  the  land  of  visions  and  of 
dreams — was  brought  back  to  reality — as  if  with  a  sudden 
jerk — with  those  two  preposterous  little  words. 

"What  evil  news?"  he  asked. 

"The  allied  armies  have  retreated  all  along  the  line  .  .  . 
the  Corsican  adventurer  is  victorious  .  .  .  our  poor 
King  .  .  ." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  young  fool,"  cried  Bobby 
hoarsely.  "The  Lord  help  you  but  I  do  believe  you  are 
about  to  blaspheme  ..." 

"But  .  .  ." 

"The  Allied  Armies— the  British  Army,  God  bless  it  !— 
have  covered  themselves  with  glory — Napoleon  and  his  Em- 
pire have  ceased  to  be.  The  Grand  Army  is  in  full  retreat 
...  the  Prussians  are  in  pursuit.  .  .  .  The  British  have 
won  the  day  by  their  pluck  and  their  endurance.  .  .  . 
Thank  God  I  lived  just  long  enough  to  see  it  all,  ere  I 
fell  ..." 

"But  when  we  charged  the  cuirassiers  .  .  ."  began  St. 
Genis,  not  knowing  really  if  Bobby  was  raving  in  delirium, 
or  speaking  of  what  he  knew.  He  wanted  to  ask  further 
questions,  to  hear  something  more  before  he  started  for 


336  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

Brussels  .  .  .  the  only  thing  which  he  remembered  with 
absolute  certainty  was  that  awful  charge  of  his  regiment 
against  the  cuirassiers,  then  the  panic  and  the  rout :  and 
he  judged  the  whole  issue  of  the  battle  by  what  had  hap- 
pened to  a  detachment  of  Brunswickers. 

And  yet,  of  course — before  the  charge — he  had  seen 
and  known  all  that  Bobby  told  him  now.  That  rush  of 
the  Brunswickers  and  the  Dutch  down  the  hillside  was 
only  a  part  of  the  huge  and  glorious  charge  of  the  whole 
of  the  Allied  troops  against  the  routed  Grand  Army  of 
Napoleon.  He  had  neither  the  physical  strength  nor  the 
desire  to  think  out  all  that  it  would  mean  to  him  per- 
sonally if  what  Bobby  now  told  him  was  indeed  absolutely 
true. 

He  was  longing  to  make  the  wounded  man  rouse  him- 
self just  once  more  and  reiterate  the  glad  news  which 
meant  so  much  to  him — Maurice — and  to  Crystal.  But  it 
was  useless  to  think  of  that  now.  Bobby  was  either  un- 
conscious or  asleep.  For  a  moment  a  twinge  of  real  pity 
made  St.  Genis'  heart  ache  for  the  man  who  seemed  to 
be  left  so  lonely  and  so  desolate:  jealousy  itself  gave  way 
before  that  more  gentle  feeling.  After  all,  Crystal  could 
only  be  true  to  the  love  of  her  childhood;  her  heart  be- 
longed to  the  companion,  the  lover,  the  ideal  of  her  girlish 
dreams.  This  stranger  here  loved  her — that  was  obvious — 
but  Crystal  had  never  looked  on  him  with  anything  but 
indifference.  Even  that  dance  last  night  .  .  .  but  of  this 
Maurice  would  not  think  lest  pity  die  out  of  his  heart 
again  .  .  .  and  jealousy  and  hate  walk  hand  in  hand 
with  base  ingratitude. 

He  turned  his  horse's  head  round  to  the  road,  pressed  his 
knees  into  its  sides,  and  then  as  the  poor,  weary  beast 
started  to  amble  leisurely  down  the  road,  Maurice  looked 
back  for  the  last  time  on  the  prostrate,  pathetic  figure  of 
the  lonely  man  who  had  given  his  all  for  him:  he  looked 


THE  LAST  THROW  887 

at  every  landmark  which  would  enable  him  to  find  that 
man  again — the  angle  of  the  forest  where  it  touched  the 
meadow, — the  milestone,  the  trees  by  the  roadside — oh! 
he  meant  to  do  his  duty,  to  do  it  well  and  quickly,  to  send 
the  conveyance,  to  neglect  nothing;  then,  with  a  sigh — half 
of  bitterness,  yet  full  of  satisfaction — he  finally  turned  away 
and  looked  straight  out  before  him  into  the  distance  where 
Brussels  lay,  and  where  the  happiness  of  Crystal's  love 
called  to  him,  and  he  would  find  rest  and  peace  in  the  warm 
affection  of  her  faithful  heart. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  LOSING   HANDS 


An  hour  later  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  was  in  Brussels. 
Though  his  head  still  ached  his  mind  was  clear,  and 
thoughts  of  Crystal — of  happiness  with  her  now  at  last 
within  sight — had  chased  every  other  thought  away. 

His  home  had  been  with  the  de  Cambrays  ever  since 
those  old,  sad  days  in  England;  he  had  a  home  to  go  to 
now : — a  home  where  the  kindly  friendship  of  the  Comte 
as  well  as  the  love  of  Crystal  was  ready  to  welcome  him. 
The  warmth  of  anticipated  happiness  and  well-being 
warmed  his  heart  and  gave  strength  to  his  body.  The  hor- 
rors of  the  past  few  hours  seemed  all  to  have  melted  away 
behind  him  on  the  Brussels  road  as  did  the  remembrance 
of  a  man — wounded  himself  and  spent — risking  his  life 
for  the  sake  of  a  friend.  Not  that  St.  Genis  meant  to  be 
ungrateful — nor  did  he  forget  that  wounded  man — lying 
alone  and  sick  on  the  fringe  of  the  wood  by  the  road- 
side. 

As  soon  as  he  had  taken  his  horse  round  to  the  barracks 
in  the  rue  des  Comediens,  and  before  even  he  had  a  wash 
or  had  his  uniform  cleaned  of  stains  and  mud,  he  rushed 
to  the  headquarters  of  the  Army  Service  to  see  how  soon 
a  conveyance  could  be  sent  out  to  his  friend — and  when  he 
was  unable  to  obtain  what  he  wanted  there,  he  rushed  from 
hospital  to  hospital,  thence  to  two  or  three  doctors  whom 
he  knew  of  to  see  what  could  be  done.     But  the  hospitals 

338 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  889 

were  already  over- full  and  over-busy:  their  ambulances 
were  all  already  on  the  way :  as  for  the  doctors,  they  were 
all  from  home — all  at  work  where  their  skill  was  most 
needed — an  army  of  doctors,  of  ambulances  and  drivers 
would  not  suffice  at  this  hour  to  bring  all  the  wounded  in 
from  the  spot  where  that  awful  battle  was  raging. 

And  Maurice  saw  time  slipping  by :  he  had  already  spent 
an  hour  in  a  fruitless  quest.  He  longed  to  see  Crj-stal 
and  waxed  impatient  at  the  delay.  Anon  at  the  English 
hospital  a  kindly  person — who  listened  sympathetically  to 
his  tale — promised  him  that  the  ambulance  which  was  just 
setting  out  in  the  direction  of  Mont  Saint  Jean  would  be 
on  the  look-out  for  his  wounded  friend  by  the  roadside; 
and  Maurice  with  a  sigh  of  relief  felt  that  he  had  indeed 
done  his  duty  and  done  his  best. 

At  the  English  hospital  Clyffurde  would  be  splendidly 
looked  after — nowhere  else  coyld  he  find  such  sympathetic 
treatment !  And  Maurice  with  a  light  heart  went  back  to 
the  barracks  in  the  rue  des  Comediens,  where  he  had  a 
wash  and  had  his  uniform  cleaned.  Somewhat  refreshed, 
though  still  very  tired,  he  hurried  round  to  the  rue  du 
Marais,  where  the  Comte  de  Cambray  had  his  lodgings. 
The  first  sight  of  Brussels  had  already  told  him  the  whole 
pitiable  tale  of  panic  and  of  desolation  which  had  filled 
the  city  in  the  wake  of  the  fugitive  troops.  The  streets 
were  encumbered  with  vehicles  of  every  kind — carts,  ba- 
rouches, barrows — with  horses  loosely  tethered,  with  the 
wounded  who  lay  about  on  litters  of  straw  along  the  edges 
of  the  pavement,  in  doorways,  under  archways  in  the  centre 
of  open  places,  with  crowds  of  weeping  women  and  cry- 
ing children  wandering  aimlessly  from  place  to  place  try- 
ing to  find  the  loved  one  who  might  be  lying  here,  hurt  or 
mayhap  dying. 

And  everywhere  men  in  tattered  uniforms,  with  grimy 
hands  and  faces,  and  boots  knee-deep  in  stains  of  mud, 


S40  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

stood  about  or  sat  in  the  empty  carts,  talking,  gesticulating, 
giving  sundry,  confused  and  contradictory  accounts  of  the 
great  battle — describing  Napoleon's  decisive  victory — Wel- 
lington's rout — the  prolonged  absence  of  Bliicher  and  the 
Prussians,  cause  of  the  terrible  disaster. 

M.  le  Comte  d'Artois  had  rushed  precipitately  from 
Brussels  up  to  Ghent  to  warn  His  Majesty  the  King  of 
France  that  all  hope  of  saving  his  throne  was  now  at  an 
end,  and  that  the  wisest  course  to  pursue  was  to  return 
to  England  and  resign  himself  once  more  to  obscurity  and 
exile. 

M.  le  Prince  de  Conde  too  had  gone  off  to  Antwerp 
in  a  huge  barouche,  having  under  his  care  the  treasure 
and  jewels  of  the  crown  hastily  collected  three  months  ago 
at  the  Tuileries. 

In  every  open  space  a  number  of  prisoners  were  being 
guarded  by  mixed  patrols  of  Dutch,  Belgian  or  German  sol- 
diers, and  their  cry  of  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  which  they  re- 
iterated with  unshakable  obstinacy  roused  the  ire  of  their 
captors,  and  provoked  many  a  savage  blow,  and  many  a 
broken  head. 

But  St.  Genis  did  not  pause  to  look  on  these  sights :  he 
had  not  the  strength  to  stand  up  in  the  midst  of  these  con- 
fused masses  of  terror-driven  men  and  women,  and  to 
shout  to  them  that  they  were  fools — that  all  their  panic 
must  be  turned  to  joy,  their  lamentations  to  shouts  of  jubila- 
tion. News  of  victory  was  bound  to  spread  through  the 
city  within  the  next  hour,  and  he  himself  longed  only  to 
see  Crystal,  to  reassure  her  as  to  his  own  safety,  to  see  the 
light  of  happiness  kindled  in  her  eyes  by  the  news  which 
he  brought.    He  had  not  the  strength  for  more. 

It  was  old  Jeanne  who  opened  the  door  at  the  lodgings 
in  the  rue  du  Marais  when  Maurice  finally  rang  the  bell 
there. 

"M.  le  Marquis !"  she  exclaimed.    "Oh !  but  you  are  ill." 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  841 

"Only  very  tired  and  weak,  Jeanne,"  he  said.  "It  has 
been  an  awful  day." 

"Ah!  but  M.  le  Comte  will  be  pleased!" 

"And  Mademoiselle  Crystal?"  asked  Maurice  with  a  smile 
which  had  in  it  all  the  self-confidence  of  the  accepted  lover. 

"Mademoiselle  Crystal  will  be  happy  too,"  said  Jeanne. 
"She  has  been  so  unhappy,  so  desperately  anxious  all  day." 

"Can  I  see  her?" 

"Mademoiselle  is  out  for  the  moment,  M.  le  Marquis. 
And  M.  le  Comte  has  gone  to  the  Cercle  des  Legitimistes 
in  the  rue  des  Cendres — perhaps  M.  le  Marquis  knows — 
it  is  not  far." 

"I  would  like  to  see  Mademoiselle  Crystal  first.  You 
understand,  don't  you,  Jeanne?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  M.  le  Marquis,"  sighed  faithful  Jeanne,  who 
was  always  inclined  to  be  sentimental. 

"How  long  will  she  be,  do  you  think?" 

"Oh!  another  half  hour.  Perhaps  more.  Mademoi- 
selle has  gone  to  the  cathedral.  If  M.  le  Marquis  will  give 
himself  the  trouble  to  walk  so  far,  he  cannot  fail  to  see 
Mademoiselle  when  she  comes  out  of  church." 

But  already — before  Jeanne  had  finished  speaking — 
Maurice  had  turned  on  his  heel  and  was  speeding  back 
down  the  narrow  street.  Tired  and  weak  as  he  was,  his 
one  idea  was  to  see  Crystal,  to  hear  her  voice,  to  see  the 
love-light  in  her  eyes.  He  felt  that  at  sight  of  her  all 
fatigue  would  be  gone,  all  recollections  of  the  horrors  of 
this  day  wiped  out  with  the  first  look  of  joy  and  relief 
with  which  she  would  greet  him. 

II 

The  service  was  over,  and  the  congregation  had  filed 
out  of  the  cathedral.  Crystal  was  one  of  the  last  to  go. 
She  stood  for  a  long  while  in  the  porch  looking  down  with 
unseeing  eyes  on  the  bustle  and  excitement  which  went 


S42  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

on  in  the  Place  down  below.  Her  mind  was  not  here.  It 
was  far  indeed  from  the  crowd  of  terror-stricken  or  gos- 
siping men  and  women,  of  wounded  soldiers,  terrified  peas- 
antry and  anxious  townsfolk  that  encumbered  the  precincts 
of  the  stately  edifice. 

From  the  remote  distance — out  toward  the  south — came 
the  boom  and  roar  of  cannon  and  musket  fire — almost  in- 
cessant still.  There  was  her  heart !  th,ere  her  thoughts !  with 
the  brave  men  who  were  fighting  for  their  national  ex- 
istence— with  the  British  troops  and  with  their  sufferings 
— and  she  stood  here,  staring  straight  out  before  her — dry- 
eyed  and  pale  and  small  white  hands  clasped  tightly  to- 
gether. 

The  greater  part  of  to-day  she  had  sat  by  the  open  win- 
dow in  the  shabby  drawing-room  in  the  rue  du  Marais, 
listening  to  that  awful  fusillade,  wondering  with  mind  well- 
nigh  bursting  with  horror  and  with  misery  which  of  those 
cruel  shots  which  she  heard  in  the  dim  distance  would 
still  for  ever  the  brave  and  loyal  heart  that  had  made  so 
many  silent  sacrifices  for  her. 

And  her  father,  vaguely  thinking  that  she  was  anxious 
about  Maurice — vaguely  wondering  that  she  cared  so  much 
— had  done  his  best  to  try  and  comfort  her:  "She  need 
not  fear  much  for  Maurice,"  he  had  told  her  as  reassur- 
ingly as  he  could — "the  Brunswickers  were  not  likely  to 
suffer  much.  The  brunt  of  the  conflict  would  fall  upon 
the  British.  Ah!  but  they  would  lose  very  heavily.  Wel- 
lington had  not  more  than  seventy  thousand  men  to  put  up 
against  the  Corsican's  troops;  and  only  a  hundred  ^nd  fifty 
cannon  against  two  hundred  and  eighty.  Yes,  the  British 
would  probably  be  annihilated  by  superior  forces :  but  no 
doubt  the  other  allies — and  the  Bamswickers — would  come 
off  a  great  deal  better." 

But  Mme.  la  Duchesse  douairiere  d'Agen  offered  no  such 
consolation.     She  contented  herself  with  saying  that  she 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  S4S 

was  sure  in  her  mind  that  Maurice  would  come  through 
quite  safely,  and  that  she  prayed  to  God  with  all  her  heart 
and  soul  that  the  gallant  British  troops  would  not  suffer 
too  heavily.  Then  with  her  fine,  gentle  hand  she  patted 
Crystal's  fair  curls  which  were  clinging  matted  and  damp 
against  the  young  girl's  burning  forehead.  And  she  stooped 
and  kissed  those  aching  dry  blue  eyes  and  whispered  quite 
under  her  breath  so  that  Crystal  could  not  be  sure  if  she 
heard  correctly:  "May  God  protect  him  too!  He  is  a 
brave  and  a  good  man!" 

And  then  Crystal  had  gone  out  to  seek  peace  and  rest 
in  beautiful  old  Ste.  Gudule,  so  full  of  memories  of  other 
conflicts,  other  prayers,  other  deeds  of  heroism  of  long 
ago.  Here  in  the  dim  Hght  and  the  silence  and  the  peace, 
her  quivering  nerves  had  become  somewhat  stilled:  and 
when  she  came  out  she  was  able  just  for  the  moment  neither 
to  see  or  hear  the  terror-mongers  down  below  and  only 
to  think  of  the  heroes  out  there  on  the  field  of  battle  for 
whom  she  had  just  prayed  with  such  passionate  earnestness. 

Suddenly  in  the  crowd  she  recognised  Maurice.  He  was 
coming  up  the  cathedral  steps,  looking  for  her,  no  doubt 
— Jeanne  must  have  directed  him.  When  he  drew  near  to 
her,  he  saw  that  a  look  of  happy  surprise  and  of  true  joy 
lit  up  the  delicate  pathos  of  her  face.  He  ran  quickly  to 
her  now.  He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms — here  in 
face  of  the  crowd — but  there  was  something  in  her  manner 
which  instinctively  sobered  him  and  he  had  to  be  content 
with  the  little  cold  hands  which  she  held  out  to  him  and 
with  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  her  finger  tips. 

Already  in  his  eyes  she  had  read  that  the  news  which 
he  brought  was  not  so  bad  as  rumour  had  foretold. 

"Maurice,"  she  cried  excitedly,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
throat,  'you  are  well  and  safe,  thank  God!  And  what 
news?  .  .  ." 

"The  news  is  good,"  Maurice  replied.     "Victory  is  as- 


844  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

sured  by  now.    It  has  been  a  hard  day,  but  we  have  won." 

She  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  But  the  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes,  her  lips  quivered  and  Maurice  knew  that 
she  was  thanking  God.  Then  she  turned  back  to  him  and 
he  could  see  her  face  glowing  with  excitement. 

"And  our  allies,"  she  asked,  and  now  that  little  catch 
in  her  throat  was  more  marked,  "the  British  troops?  .  .  . 
We  heard  that  they  behaved  like  heroes,  and  bore  the  brunt 
of  this  awful  battle." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  the  British  troops,  my  sweet," 
he  replied  lightly,  "but  what  news  I  have  I  will  have  to 
impart  to  your  father  as  well  as  to  you.  So  it  will  have 
to  keep  until  I  see  him  .  .  .  but  just  now,  Crystal,  while 
we  are  alone  ...  I  have  other  things  to  say  to  you." 

But  it  is  doubtful  if  Crystal  heard  more  than  just  the 
first  words  which  he  had  spoken,  for  she  broke  in  quite 
irrelevantly : 

"You  don't  know  about  the  British  troops,  Maurice  ?  Oh ! 
but  you  must  know!  .  .  .  Don't  you  know  what  British 
regiments  were  engaged?  .  .  ." 

"I  know  that  none  of  our  own  people  were  In  British 
regiments,  Crystal,"  he  retorted  somewhat  drily,  "whereas 
the  Brunswickers  and  Nassauers  were  as  much  French  as 
German  .  .  .  they  fought  gallantly  all  day  .  .  .  you  do  not 
ask  so  much  about  them." 

"But  ,  .  ."  she  stammered  while  a  hot  flush  spread  over 
her  cheeks,  "I  thought  .  .  .  you  said  .  .  ." 

"Are  you  not  content  for  the  moment.  Crystal,"  he  called 
out  with  tender  reproach,  "to  know  that  victory  has 
crowned  our  King  and  his  allies  and  that  I  have  come  back 
to  you  safely  out  of  that  raging  hell  at  Waterloo?  Are 
you  not  glad  that  I  am  here?" 

He  spoke  more  vehemently  now,  for  there  was  something 
in  Crystal's  calm  attitude  which  had  begun  to  chill  him. 
Had  he  not  been  in  deadly  danger  all  the  day?     Had  she 


THE  LOSING  HANDS 


845 


not  heard  that  distant  cannon's  roar  which  had  threatened 
his  life  throughout  all  these  hours?  Had  he  not  come  back 
out  of  the  very  jaws  of  Death? 

And  yet  here  she  stood  white  as  a  lily  and  as  unruf- 
fled; except  for  that  one  first  exclamation  of  joy  not  a 
single  cry  from  the  heart  had  forced  itself  through  her 
pale,  slightly  trembling  lips :  yet  she  was  sweet  and  girlish 
and  tender  as  of  old  and  even  now  at  the  implied  reproach 
her  eyes  had  quickly  filled  with  tears. 

"How  can  you  ask,  Maurice?"  she  protested  gently.  "I 
have  thought  of  you  and  prayed  for  you  all  day." 

It  was  her  quiet  serenity  that  disconcerted  him — ^the 
kindly  tone  of  her  voice — her  calm,  unembarrassed  manner 
checked  his  passionate  impulse  and  caused  him  to  bite  his 
underlip  with  vexation  until  it  bled. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  closing  in  around  them: 
from  the  windows  of  the  houses  close  by  dim,  yellow  lights 
began  to  blink  like  eyes.  Overhead,  the  exquisite  towers 
of  Ste.  Gudule  stood  out  against  the  stormy  sky  like  per- 
fect, delicate  lace-work  turned  to  stone,  whilst  the  glass 
of  the  west  window  glittered  like  a  sheet  of  sapphires  and 
emeralds  and  rubies,  as  it  caught  the  last  rays  of  the  sink- 
ing sun.  Crystal's  graceful  figure  stood  out  in  its  white, 
summer  draperies,  clear  and  crystalline  as  herself  against 
the  sombre  background  of  the  cathedral  porch. 

And  Maurice  watched  her  through  the  dim  shadows  of 
gathering  twilight :  he  watched  her  as  a  fowler  watches  the 
bird  which  he  has  captured  and  never  wholly  tamed.  Some- 
how he  felt  that  her  love  for  him  was  not  quite  what  it 
had  been  until  now :  that  she  was  no  longer  the  same  girl- 
ish, submissive  creature  on  whose  soft  cheeks  a  word  or 
look  from  him  had  the  power  to  raise  a  flush  of  joy. 

She  was  different  now— in  a  curious,  intangible  way 
which  he  could  not  define. 

And  jealousy  reared  up  its  threatening  head  more  in- 


346  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

sistently: — ^bitter  jealousy  which  embraced  de  Marmont, 
Clyffurde,  Fate  and  Circumstance — but  Clyffurde  above  all 
— the  stranger  hitherto  deemed  of  no  account,  but  who  now 
— wounded,  abandoned,  dying,  perhaps — seemed  a  more 
formidable  rival  than  Maurice  awhile  ago  had  deemed 
possible. 

He  cursed  himself  for  that  touch  of  sentiment — he  called 
it  cowardice — which  the  other  night,  after  the  ball,  had 
prompted  him  to  write  to  Crystal.  But  for  that  voluntary 
confession — he  thought — she  could  never  have  despised 
him.  And  following  up  the  train  of  his  own  thoughts, 
and  realising  that  these  had  not  been  spoken  aloud,  he 
suddenly  called  out  abruptly: 

"Is  it  because  of  my  letter,  Crystal?" 

She  gave  a  start,  and  turned  even  paler  than  she  had 
been  before.  Obviously  she  had  been  brought  roughly 
back  from  the  land  of  dreams. 

"Your  letter,  Maurice?"  she  asked  vaguely,  "what  do 
you  mean?" 

"I  wrote  you  a  letter  the  other  night,"  he  continued, 
speaking  quickly  and  harshly,  "after  the  ball.  Did  you  re- 
ceive it?" 

"Yes." 

"And  read  it?" 

"Of  course." 

"And  is  it  because  of  it  that  your  love  for  me  has  gone?" 

He  had  not  meant  to  put  his  horrible  suspicions  into 
words.  The  very  fact — now  that  he  had  spoken — appeared 
more  tangible,  even  irremediable.  She  did  not  reply  to  his 
taunt,  and  he  came  a  little  closer  to  her  and  took  her  hand, 
and  when  she  tried  to  withdraw  it  from  his  grasp  he  held 
it  tightly  and  bent  down  his  head  so  that  in  the  gathering 
gloom  he  could  read  every  line  of  her  face. 

"Because  of  what  I  told  you  in  my  letter  you  despised 
me,  did  you  not?"  he  asked. 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  347 

Again  she  made  no  reply.  What  could  she  say  that 
would  not  hurt  him  far  more  than  did  her  silence?  The 
next  moment  he  had  drawn  her  back  right  into  the  shadow 
of  the  cathedral  walls,  into  a  dark  angle,  where  no  one 
could  see  either  her  or  him.  He  placed  his  hands  upon 
her  shoulders  and  compelled  her  to  look  him  straight  in 
the  face. 

"Listen,  Crystal,"  he  said  slowly  and  with  desperate 
earnestness.  "Once,  long  ago,  I  gave  you  up  to  de  Mar- 
mont,  to  affluence  and  to  considerations  of  your  name  and 
of  our  caste.  It  all  but  broke  my  heart,  but  I  did  it  because 
your  father  demanded  that  sacrifice  from  you  and  from  me. 
I  was  ready  then  to  stand  aside  and  to  give  up  all  the 
dreams  of  my  youth.  .  .  .  But  now  everything  is  differ- 
ent. For  one  thing,  the  events  of  the  past  hundred  days 
have  made  every  man  many  years  older:  the  hell  I  went 
through  to-day  has  helped  to  make  a  more  sober,  more 
determined  man  of  me.  Now  I  will  not  give  you  up.  I 
will  not.  My  way  is  clear :  I  can  win  you  with  your  father's 
consent  and  give  him  and  you  all  that  de  Marmont  had 
promised.  The  King  trusts  me  and  will  give  me  what  I 
ask.  I  am  no  longer  a  wastrel,  no  longer  poor  and  obscure. 
And  I  will  not  give  you  up — I  swear  it  by  all  that  I  have 
gone  through  to-day.  I  will  not!  if  I  have  to  kill  with 
my  own  hand  every  one  who  stands  in  my  way." 

And  Crystal,  smiling,  quite  kindly  and  a  little  abstract- 
edly at  his  impulsive  earnestness,  gently  removed  his  hands 
from  her  shoulders  and  said  calmly: 

"You  are  tired,  Maurice,  and  overwrought.  Shall  we 
go  in  and  wait  for  father?  He  will  be  getting  anxious 
about  me."  And  without  waiting  to  see  if  he  followed 
her,  she  turned  to  walk  toward  the  steps. 

St.  Genis  smothered  a  violent  oath,  but  he  said  nothmg 
more.  He  was  satisfied  with  what  he  had  done.  He  knew 
that  women  liked  a  masterful  man  and  he  meant  every 


348  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

word  which  he  said.  He  would  not  give  her  up  .  .  .  not 
now  .  .  .  and  not  to  .  .  .  Ye  gods !  he  would  not  think  of 
that; — he  would  not  think  of  the  lonely  roadside  nor  of 
the  wounded  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  Crystal's  love. 
He  had  done  his  duty  by  Clyffurde — what  more  could  he 
have  done  at  this  hour? — and  he  meant  to  do  far  more 
than  that — he  meant  to  go  back  to  the  English  hospital  as 
soon  as  possible,  to  see  that  Clyffurde  had  every  atten- 
tion, every  care,  every  comfort  that  human  sympathy  can 
bestow.  What  more  could  he  do?  He  would  have  done 
no  good  by  going  out  with  the  ambulance  himself — surely 
not — he  would  have  missed  seeing  Crystal — and  she  would 
have  fretted  and  been  still  more  anxious  ...  his  first 
duty  was  to  Crystal  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  ...  St.  Genis 
only  thought  of  Crystal  and  of  himself  and  the  voice  of 
Conscience  was  compulsorily  stilled. 

Ill 

Having  lulled  his  conscience  to  sleep  and  satisfied  his 
self-love  by  a  passionate  tirade,  Maurice  followed  Crystal 
down  the  steps  at  the  west  front  of  Ste.  Gudule. 

Immediately  opposite  them  at  the  corner  of  the  narrow 
rue  de  Ligne  was  the  old  Auberge  des  Trois  Rois,  from 
whence  the  diligence  started  twice  a  day  in  time  to  catch 
the  tide  and  the  English  packet  at  Ostend.  Maurice  and 
Crystal  stood  for  a  moment  together  on  the  steps  watch- 
ing the  bustle  and  excitement,  the  comings  and  goings  of 
the  crowd,  which  always  attend  such  departures.  All  day 
there  had  been  a  steady  stream  of  fugitives  out  of  the 
town,  taking  their  belongings  with  them :  the  diligence  was 
for  the  well-to-do  and  the  indifferent  who  hurried  away 
to  England  to  await  the  advent  of  more  settled  times. 

Victor  de  Marmont  had  secured  his  place  inside  the 
coach.  He  had  exchanged  his  borrowed  uniform  for  ci- 
vilian clothes,  he  had  bestowed  his  belongings  in  the  ve- 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  349 

hide  and  he  was  standing  about  desultorily  waiting  for 
the  hour  of  departure.  The  diligence  would  not  arrive 
at  Ostend  till  five  o'clock  in  the  morning:  then  with  the 
tide  the  packet  would  go  out,  getting  into  London  well 
after  midday.  Chance,  as  represented  by  the  tide,  had  seri- 
ously handicapped  de  Marmont's  plans.  But  enthusiasm 
and  doggedness  of  purpose  whispered  to  him  that  he  still 
held  the  winning  card.  The  English  packet  was  timed  to 
arrive  in  London  by  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  he  would 
still  have  two  hours  to  his  credit  before  closing  time  on 
'Change  and  another  hour  in  the  street.  Time  to  find  his 
broker  and  half  an  hour  to  spare:  that  would  still  leave 
him  an  hour  wherein  to  make  a  fortune  for  his  Em- 
peror. 

At  one  time  he  was  afraid  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
secure  a  seat  in  the  diligence,  so  numerous  were  the  travel- 
lers who  wished  to  leave  Brussels  behind  them.  But  in  this, 
Chance  and  the  length  of  his  purse  favoured  him:  he 
bought  his  seat  for  an  exorbitant  price,  but  he  bought  it; 
and  at  nine  o'clock  the  diligence  was  timed  to  start. 

It  was  now  half-past  eight.  And  just  then  de  Marmont 
caught  sight  of  Crystal  and  St.  Genis  coming  down  the 
cathedral  steps. 

He  had  half  an  hour  to  spare  and  he  followed  them.  He 
wanted  to  speak  to  Crystal— he  had  wanted  it  all  day— 
but  the  difficulty  of  getting  what  clothes  he  required  and 
the  trouble  and  time  spent  in  bargaining  for  a  seat  in  the 
diligence  had  stood  in  his  way.  M.  le  Comte  de  Cam- 
bray  would  never,  of  course,  admit  him  inside  his  doors, 
and  it  would  have  meant  hanging  about  in  the  nie  du 
Marais  and  trusting  to  a  chance  meeting  with  Crystal  when 
she  went  out,  and  for  this  he  had  not  the  time. 

And  the  chance  meeting  had  come  about  in  spite  of  all 
adverse  circumstances :  and  de  Marmont  followed  Crystal 
through  the  crowded  streets,  hoping  that  St.  Gems  would 


S50  THE  BRONZE  EAGI.E 

take  leave  of  her  before  she  went  indoors.  But  even  if 
he  did  not,  de  Marmont  meant  to  have  a  few  words  with 
Crystal.  He  was  going  to  win  a  gigantic  fortune  for  the 
Emperor — one  wherewith  that  greatest  of  all  adventurers 
could  once  again  recreate  the  Empire  of  France :  he  him- 
self— rich  already — would  become  richer  still  and  also — if 
his  coup  succeeded — one  of  the  most  trusted,  most  influ- 
ential men  in  the  recreated  Empire.  He  felt  that  with  the 
offer  of  his  name  he  could  pour  out  a  veritable  cornucopia 
of  abundant  glory,  honours,  wealth  at  a  woman's  feet.  And 
his  ambition  had  always  been  bound  up  in  a  great  measure 
with  Crystal  de  Cambray.  He  certainly  loved  her  in  his 
way,  for  her  beauty  and  her  charm;  but,  above  all,  he 
looked  on  her  as  the  very  personification  of  the  old  and 
proud  regime  which  had  thought  fit  to  scorn  the  parvenu 
noblesse  of  the  Empire,  and  for  a  powerful  adherent  of 
Napoleon  to  be  possessed  of  a  wife  out  of  that  exclusive 
milieu  was  like  a  fresh  and  glorious  trophy  of  war  on  a 
conqueror's  chariot-wheel. 

De  Marmont  had  the  supreme  faith  of  an  ambitious  man 
in  the  power  of  wealth  and  of  court  favour.  He  knew 
that  Napoleon  was  not  a  man  who  ever  forgot  a  service 
efficiently  rendered,  and  would  rep^  this  one — rendered 
at  the  supreme  hour  of  disaster — with  a  surfeit  of  grati- 
tude and  of  gifts  which  must  perforce  dazzle  any  woman's 
eyes  and  conquer  her  imagination. 

Besides  his  schemes,  his  ambitions,  the  future  which 
awaited  him,  what  had  an  impecunious  wastrel  like  St. 
Genis  to  offer  to  a  woman  like  Crystal  de  Cambray  ? 

Outside  the  house  in  the  rue  du  Marais  where  the  Comte 
de  Cambray  lodged,  St.  Genis  and  Crystal  paused,  and  de 
Marmont,  who  still  kept  within  the  shadows,  waited  for 
a  favourable  opportunity  to  make  his  presence  known. 

"I'll  find  M.  le  Comte  and  bring  him  back  with  me,"  he 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  S51 

heard  St.  Genis  saying.    "You  are  sure  I  shall  find  him  at 
the  Legitimiste  ?" 

"Quite  sure,"  Crystal  replied.  "He  did  not  mean  to  leave 
the  Cercle  till  about  nine.  He  is  sure  to  wait  for  every 
bit  of  news  that  comes  in." 

"It  will  be  a  great  moment  for  me,  if  I  am  the  first  to 
bring  in  authentic  good  news." 

"You  will  be  quite  the  first,  I  should  say,"  she  assented, 
"but  don't  let  father  stay  too  long  talking.  Bring  him 
back  quickly.  Remember  I  haven't  heard  all  the  news  yet 
myself." 

St.  Genis  went  up  to  the  front  door  and  rang  the  bell, 
then  he  took  leave  of  Crystal.  De  Marmont  waited  his 
opportunity.  Anon,  Jeanne  opened  the  door,  and  St.  Genis 
walked  quickly  back  down  the  street. 

Crystal  paused  a  moment  by  the  open  door  in  order 
to  talk  to  Jeanne,  and  while  she  did  so  de  Marmont  slipped 
quickly  past  her  into  the  house  and  was  some  way  down 
the  corridor  before  the  two  women  had  recovered  from 
their  surprise.  Jeanne,  as  was  her  wont,  was  ready  to 
scream,  but  despite  the  fast  gathering  gloom  Crystal  had 
at  once  recognised  de  Marmont.  She  turned  a  cold  look 
upon  him. 

"An  intrusion.  Monsieur?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"We'll  call  it  that.  Mademoiselle,  an  you  will,"  he  re- 
plied imperturbably,  "and  if  you  will  kindly  order  your 
servant  to  go,  it  shall  be  a  very  brief  one." 

"My  father  is  from  home,"  she  said. 

De  Marmont  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
L    "I  know  that,"  he  said,  "or  I  would  not  be  here." 
^.  "Then  your  intrusion  is  that  of  a  coward,  if  you  knew 
that  I  was  unprotected." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  me,  Crystal?"  he  asked  with  a 
sneer. 

"I  am  afraid  of  no  one,"  she  replied.    "But  since  you 


862  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

and  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  one  another,  I  beg  th'at  you 
will  no  longer  force  your  company  upon  me." 

"Your  pardon,  but  there  is  something  very  important 
which  I  must  say  to  you.  I  have  news  of  to-day's  doings 
out  there  at  Waterloo,  which  bear  upon  the  whole  of  your 
future  and  upon  your  happiness.  I  myself  leave  for  Eng- 
land in  less  than  half  an  hour.  I  was  taking  my  place 
in  the  diligence  outside  the  Trois  Rois  when  I  saw  you 
coming  down  the  cathedral  steps.  Fate  has  given  me  an 
opportunity  for  which  I  sought  vainly  all  day.  You  will 
never  regret  it.  Crystal,  if  you  listen  to  me  now." 

"I  listen,"  she  broke  in  coolly.  "I  pray  you  be  as  brief 
as  you  can." 

"Will  you  order  the  servant  to  go?" 

For  a  moment  longer  she  hesitated.  Commonsense  told 
her  that  it  was  neither  prudent  nor  expedient  to  hold  con- 
verse with  this  man,  who  was  an  avowed  and  bitter  en- 
emy of  her  cause.  But  he  had  spoken  of  the  doings  at 
Waterloo  and  spoken  of  them  in  connection  with  her  own 
future  and  her  happiness,  and — prudent  or  not — she  wanted 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  in  the  vague  hope  that  from 
a  chance  word  carelessly  dropped  by  Victor  de  Marmont 
she  would  glean,  if  only  a  scrap,  some  news  of  that  on  which 
St.  Genis  would  not  dwell  but  on  which  hung  her  heart  and 
her  very  life — ^the  fate  of  the  British  troops. 

After  all  he  might  know  something,  he  might  say  some- 
thing which  would  help  her  to  bear  this  intolerable  misery 
of  uncertainty :  and  on  the  merest  chance  of  that  she  threw 
prudence  to  the  winds. 

"You  may  go,  Jeanne,"  she  said.  "But  remain  within 
call.  Leave  the  front  door  open,"  she  added.  "M.  le 
Comte  and  M.  le  Marquis  will  be  here  directly." 

"Oh!  you  are  well  protected,"  said  Victor  de  Marmont 
with  a  careless  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  Jeanne's  heavy, 
shuffling  footsteps  died  away  down  the  corridor. 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  S5S 

"Now,  M.  de  Marmont,"  said  Crystal  coolly.    "I  listen." 

She  was  leaning  back  against  the  wall— her  hands  behind 
her,  her  pale  face  and  large  blue  eyes  with  their  black 
dilated  pupils  turned  questioningly  upon  him.  The  walls 
of  the  corridor  were  painted  white,  after  the  manner  of 
Flemish  houses,  the  tiled  floor  was  white  too,  and  Crystal 
herself  was  dressed  all  in  white,  so  that  the  whole  scene 
made  up  of  pale,  soft  tints  looked  weird  and  ghostly  in 
the  twilight  and  Crystal  like  an  ethereal  creature  come  down 
from  the  land  of  nymphs  and  of  elves. 

And  de  Marmont,  too — like  St.  Genis  a  while  ago — felt 
that  never  had  this  beautiful  woman — she  was  no  longer 
a  girl  now — looked  more  exquisite  and  more  desirable,  and 
he — conscious  of  the  power  which  fortune  and  success  can 
give,  thought  that  he  could  woo  and  win  her  once  again 
in  spite  of  caste-prejudice  and  of  political  hatred.  St.  Genis 
had  felt  his  position  unassailable  by  virtue  of  old  associa- 
tions, common  sympathies  and  youthful  vows:  de  Marmont 
relied  on  feminine  ambition,  love  of  power,  of  wealth  and 
of  station,  and  at  this  moment  in  Crystal's  shining  eyes  he 
only  read  excitement  and  the  unspoken  desire  for  all  that 
he  was  prepared  to  offer. 

"I  have  only  a  few  moments  to  spare,  Crystal,"  he  said 
slowly,  and  with  earnest  emphasis,  "so  I  will  be  very  brief. 
For  the  moment  the  Emperor  has  suffered  a  defeat — as 
he  did  at  Eylau  or  at  Leipzic— his  defeats  are  always  mo- 
mentary, his  victories  alone  are  decisive  and  abiding.  The 
whole  world  knows  that.  It  needs  no  proclaiming  from 
me.  But  in  order  to  retrieve  that  momentary  defeat  of 
to-day  he  has  deigned  to  ask  my  help.  The  gods  are  good 
to  me !  they  have  put  it  within  my  power  to  help  my  Em- 
peror in  his  need.  I  am  going  to  England  to-night  in  order 
to  carry  out  his  instructions.  By  to-morrow  afternoon  I 
shall  have  finished  my  work.  The  Empire  of  France  will 
once  more  rise  triumphant  and  glorious  out  of  the  ashes  of 


354.  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

a  brief  defeat;  the  Emperor  once  more,  Phoebus-like,  will 
drive  the  chariot  of  the  Sun,  Lord  and  Master  of  Europe, 
greater  since  his  downfall,  more  powerful,  more  majestic 
than  ever  before.  And  I,  who  will  have  been  the  humble 
instrument  of  his  reconquered  glory,  will  deserve  to  the 
full  his  bounty  and  his  gratitude." 

He  paused  for  lack  of  breath,  for  indeed  he  had  talked 
fast  and  volubly :  Crystal's  voice,  cold  and  measured,  broke 
in  on  the  silence  that  ensued. 

"And  in  what  way  does  all  this  concern  me,  M.  de  Mar- 
mont?"  she  asked. 

"It  concerns  your  whole  future.  Crystal,"  he  replied  with 
ever-growing  solemnity  and  conviction.  "You  must  have 
known  all  along  that  I  have  never  ceased  to  love  you :  you 
have  always  been  the  only  possible  woman  for  me — my 
ideal,  in  fact.  Your  father's  injustice  I  am  willing  to 
forget.  Your  troth  was  plighted  to  me  and  I  have  done 
nothing  to  deserve  all  the  insults  which  he  thought  fit  to 
heap  upon  me.  I  wanted  you  to  know.  Crystal,  that  my 
love  is  still  yours,  and  that  the  fortune  and  glory  which 
I  now  go  forth  to  win  I  will  place  with  inexpressible  joy 
at  your  feet." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  an  air  of  supreme  in- 
difference spread  over  her  face.  "Is  that  all?"  she  asked 
coldly. 

"All?    What  do  you  mean?    I  don't  understand." 

"I  mean  that  you  persuaded  me  to  listen  to  you  on  the 
pretence  that  you  had  news  to  tell  me  of  the  doings  at 
Waterloo — news  on  which  my  happiness  depended.  You 
have  not  told  me  a  single  fact  that  concerns  me  in  the 
least." 

"It  concerns  you  as  it  concerns  me.  Crystal.  Your  hap- 
piness is  bound  up  with  mine.  You  are  still  my  promised 
wife.  I  go  to  win  glory  for  my  name  which  will  soon  be 
yours.     You  and  I,  Crystal,  hand  in  hand!  think  of  it! 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  856 

our  love  has  survived  the  political  turmoils — united  in  love, 
united  in  glory,  you  and  I  will  be  the  most  brilliant  stars 
that  will  shine  at  the  Imperial  Court  of  France." 

She  did  not  try  to  interrupt  his  tirade,  but  looked  on 
him  with  cool  wonderment,  as  one  gazes  on  some  curious 
animal  that  is  raving  and  raging  behind  iron  bars.  When 
he   had  finished  she  said  quietly: 

"You  are  mad,  I  think,  M.  de  Marmont.  At  any  rate, 
you  had  better  go  now :  time  is  getting  on,  and  you  will 
lose  your  place  in  the  diligence," 

He  was  less  to  her  than  the  dust  under  her  feet,  and 
his  protestations  had  not  even  the  power  to  rouse  her 
wrath.  Indeed,  all  that  worried  her  at  this  moment  was 
vexation  with  herself  for  having  troubled  to  listen  to  him 
at  all :  it  had  been  worse  than  foolish  to  suppose  that  he 
had  any  news  to  impart  which  did  not  directly  concern 
himself.  So  now,  while  he,  utterly  taken  aback,  was  staring 
at  her  open-mouthed  and  bewildered,  siie  turned  away, 
cold  and  full  of  disdain,  gathering  her  draperies  round 
her,  and  started  to  walk  slowly  toward  the  stairs.  Her 
clinging  white  skirt  made  a  soft,  swishing  sound  as  it 
brushed  the  tiled  floor,  and  she  herself— with  her  slender 
figure,  graceful  neck  and  crown  of  golden  curls,  looked, 
as  the  gloom  of  evening  wrapped  her  in,  more  like  an  in- 
tangible elf— an  apparition— gliding  through  space,  than 
just  a  scornful  woman  who  had  thought  fit  to  reject  the 
importunate  addresses  of  an  unwelcome  suitor. 

She  left  de  Marmont  standing  there  in  the  corridor— like 
some  presumptuous  beggar— burning  with  rage  and  humili- 
ation, too  insignificant  even  to  be  feared.  But  he  was  not 
the  man  to  accept  such  a  situation  calmly:  his  love  for 
Crystal  had  never  been  anything  but  a  selfish  one— born 
of  the  desire  to  possess  a  high-born,  elegant  wife,  taken 
out  of  the  very  caste  which  had  scorned  him  and  his  kind . 
her  acquiescence  he  had  always  taken  for  granted:  her  love 


356  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

he  meant  to  win  after  his  wooing  of  her  hand  had  been 
successful — ^until  then  he  could  wait.  So  certain  too  was 
he  of  his  own  power  to  win  her,  in  virtue  of  all  that  he 
had  to  offer,  that  he  would  not  take  her  scorn  for  real  or 
her  refusal  to  listen  to  him  as  final. 

IV 

Before  she  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  was 
already  by  her  side,  and  with  a  masterful  hand  upon  her 
arm  had  compelled  her,  by  physical  strength,  to  turn  and 
to  face  him  once  more. 

"Crystal,"  he  said,  forcing  himself  to  speak  quietly,  even 
though  his  voice  quivered  with  excitement  and  passionate 
wrath,  "as  you  say,  I  have  only  a  few  moments  to  spare, 
but  they  are  just  long  enough  for  me  to  tell  you  that  it 
is  you  who  are  mad.  I  daresay  that  it  is  difficult  to  be- 
lieve in  the  immensity  of  a  disaster.  M.  de  St.  Genis  no 
doubt  has  been  filling  your  ears  with  tales  of  the  allied 
armies'  victories.  But  look  at  me,  Crystal — look  at  me  and 
tell  me  if  you  have  ever  seen  a  man  more  in  deadly  earnest. 
I  tell  you  that  I  am  on  my  way  to  aid  the  Emperor  in  re- 
forming his  Empire  on  a  more  solid  basis  than  it  has  ever 
stood  before.  Have  you  ever  known  Napoleon  to  fail  in 
what  he  set  himself  to  do?  I  tell  you  that  he  is  not  crushed 
— that  he  is  not  even  defeated.  Within  a  month  the  allies 
will  be  on  their  knees  begging  for  peace.  The  era  of  your 
Bourbon  kings  is  more  absolutely  dead  to-day  than  it  has 
ever  been.  And  after  to-day  there  will  be  nothing  for  a 
royalist  like  your  father  or  like  Maurice  de  St.  Genis  but 
exile  and  humiliation  more  dire  than  before.  Your  father's 
fate  rests  entirely  in  your  hands.  I  can  direct  his  destiny, 
his  life  or  his  death,  just  as  I  please.  When  you  are  my 
wife,  I  will  forgive  him  the  insults  which  he  heaped  on  me 
Sit  Brestalou  .  .  .  but  not  before.  ...  As  for  Maurice  de 
St  Genis  .  .  ." 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  867 

"And  what  of  him,  you  abominable  cur?" 

The  shout  which  came  from  behind  him  checked  the 
words  on  de  Marmont's  Ups.  He  let  go  his  hold  of  Crys- 
tal's arm  as  he  felt  two  sinewy  hands  gripping  him  by 
the  throat.  The  attack  was  so  swift  and  so  unexpected 
that  he  was  entirely  off  his  guard :  he  lost  his  footing  upon 
the  slippery  floor,  and  before  he  could  recover  himself 
he  was  being  forced  back  and  back  until  his  spine  was  bent 
nearly  double  and  his  head  pressed  down  backward  almost 
to  the  level  of  his  knees. 

"Let  him  go,  Maurice !  you  might  kill  him.  Throw  him 
out  of  the  door." 

It  was  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  who  spoke.  He  and 
St.  Genis  had  arrived  just  in  time  to  save  Crystal  from  a 
further  unpleasant  scene.  She,  however,  had  not  lost  her 
presence  of  mind.  She  had  certainly  listened  to  de  Mar- 
mont's final  tirade,  because  she  knew  that  she  was  helpless 
in  his  hands,  but  she  had  never  been  frightened  for  a  mo- 
ment. Jeanne  was  within  call,  and  she  herself  had  never 
been  timorous :  at  the  same  time  she  was  thankful  enough 
that  her  father  and  St.  Genis  were  here. 

Maurice  was  almost  blind  with  rage :  he  would  have 
killed  de  Marmont  but  for  the  Comte's  timely  words,  which 
luckily  had  the  effect  of  sobering  him  at  this  critical  mo- 
ment. He  relaxed  his  convulsive  grip  on  de  Marmont's 
throat,  but  the  latter  had  already  lost  his  balance;  he  fell 
heavily,  his  body  sliding  along  the  slippery  floor,  while  his 
head  struck  against  the  projecting  woodwork  of  the  door. 

He  uttered  a  loud  cry  of  pain  as  he  fell,  then  remained 
lying  inert  on  the  ground,  and  in  the  dim  light  his  face 
took  on  an  ashen  hue. 

In  an  instant  Crystal  was  by  his  side. 

"You  have  killed  him,  Maurice,"  she  cried,  as  woman- 
like— tender  and  full  of  compassion  now — she  ran  to  the 
stricken  man. 


858  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

"I  hope  I  have,"  said  St.  Genis  sullenly.  "He  desei-ved 
the  death  of  a  cur." 

"Father,  dear,"  said  Crystal  authoritatively,  "will  you 
call  to  Jeanne  to  bring  water,  a  sponge,  towels — quickly : 
also  some  brandy." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  St.  Genis :  and  she  had  already  for- 
gotten de  Marmont's  dastardly  attitude  toward  herself.  She 
only  saw  that  he  was  helpless  and  in  pain :  she  knelt  by  his 
side,  pillowed  his  head  on  her  lap,  and  with  soothing,  gentle 
fingers  felt  his  shoulders,  his  arms,  to  see  where  he  was  hurt. 
He  opened  his  eyes  very  soon  and  encountered  those  tender 
blue  eyes  so  full  of  sweet  pity  now :  "It  is  only  my  head,  I 
think,"  he  said. 

Then  he  tried  to  move,  but  fell  back  again  with  a  groan 
of  pain:  "My  leg  is  broken,  I  am  afraid,"  he  murmured 
feebly. 

"I  had  best  fetch  a  doctor,"  rejoined  M.  le  Comte. 

"If  you  can  find  one,  father,  dear,"  said  Crystal.  "M. 
de  Marmont  ought  to  be  moved  at  once  to  his  home." 

"No!  no!"  protested  Victor  feebly,  "not  home?  to  the 
Trois  Rois  .  .  .  the  diligence.  ...  I  must  go  to  England 
to-night  .  .  .  the  Emperor's  orders." 

"The  doctor  will  decide,"  said  Crystal  gently.  "Father, 
dear,  will  you  go?" 

Jeanne  came  with  water  and  brandy.  De  Marmont  drank 
eagerly  of  the  one,  and  then  sipped  the  other. 

"I  must  go,"  he  said  more  firmly,  "the  diligence  starts 
at  nine  o'clock." 

Again  he  tried  to  move,  and  a  great  cry  of  agony  rose 
to  his  throat — not  of  physical  pain,  though  that  was  great 
too,  but  the  wild,  agonising  shriek  of  mental  torment,  of 
disappointment  and  wrath  and  misery,  greater  than  human 
heart  could  bear. 

"The  Emperor's  orders !"  he  cried.    "I  must  go!" 

Crystal  was  silent.    There  was  something  great  and  ma- 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  359 

jestic,  something  that  compelled  admiration  and  respect  in 
this  tragic  impotence,  this  failure  brought  about  by  un- 
controlled passion  at  the  very  hour  when  success — perhaps 
— might  yet  have  changed  the  whole  destinies  of  the  world, 
De  Marmont  lying  here,  helpless  to  aid  his  Emperor — < 
through  the  furious  and  jealous  attack  of  a  rival — was  at 
this  moment  more  worthy  of  a  good  woman's  regard  than 
he  had  been  in  the  flush  of  his  success  and  of  his  arro- 
gance, for  his  one  thought  was  of  the  Emperor  and  what 
he  could  no  longer  do  for  him.  He  tried  to  move  and 
could  not:  "The  Emperor's  orders!"  came  at  times  with 
pathetic  persistence  from  his  lips,  and  Crystal — woman- 
like— tried  to  soothe  and  comfort  him  in  his  failure,  even 
though  his  triumph  would  only  have  aroused  her  scorn. 

And  time  sped  on.  From  the  towers  of  the  cathedral 
came  booming  the  hour  of  nine.  The  shadows  in  the  nar- 
row street  were  long  and  dark,  only  a  pale  thin  reflex  of 
the  cold  light  of  the  moon  struck  into  the  open  doorway 
and  the  white  corridor,  and  detached  de  Marmont's  pale 
face  from  the  surrounding  gloom. 

The  Emperor's  orders  and  because  of  a  woman  these 
could  now  no  longer  be  obeyed.  If  de  Marmont  had  not 
seen  Crystal  on  the  cathedral  steps,  if  he  had  not  followed 
her — if  he  had  not  allowed  his  passion  and  arrogant  self- 
will  to  blind  him  to  time  and  to  surroundings — who  knows  ? 
but  the  whole  map  of  Europe  might  yet  have  been  changed. 

A  fortune  in  London  was  awaiting  a  gambler  who  chose 
to  stake  everything  on  a  last  throw — a  fortune  wherewith 
the  greatest  adventurer  the  world  has  ever  known  might 
yet  have  reconstituted  an  army  and  reconquered  an  Em- 
pire— and  he  who  might  have  won  that  fortune  was  lying 
in  the  narrow  corridor  of  an  humble  lodging  house — with 
a  broken  leg — helpless  and  eating  out  his  heart  now  with 
vain  regret.  Why?  Because  of  a  girl  with  fair  curls  and 
blue  eyes — just  a  woman — young  and  desirable — another 


S60  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

tiny  pawn  in  the  hands  of  the  Great  Master  of  this  world's 
game. 

The  rain  in  the  morning  at  Waterloo — Bliicher's  ar- 
rival or  Grouchy's — a,  man's  selfish  passion  for  a  woman 
who  cared  nothing  for  him — who  shall  dare  to  say  that 
these  tiny,  trivial  incidents  changed  the  destinies  of  the 
world  ? 

Think  on  it,  O  ye  materialists !  ye  worshippers  of  Chance ! 
Is  it  indeed  the  infinitesimal  doings  of  pigmies  that  bring 
about  the  great  upheavals  of  the  earth?  Do  ye  not  rather 
see  God's  will  in  that  fall  of  rain?  God's  breath  in  those 
dying  heroes  who  fell  on  Mont  Saint  Jean  ?  do  ye  not  recog- 
nise that  it  was  God's  finger  that  pointed  the  way  to 
Bliicher  and  stretched  de  Marmont  down  helpless  on  the 
ground  ? 


The  arrival  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray,  accompanied 
by  a  doctor  and  two  men  carrying  an  improvised  stretcher, 
broke  the  spell  of  silence  that  had  fallen  on  this  strange 
scene  of  pathetic  failure  which  seemed  but  an  humble  coun- 
terpart of  that  great  and  irretrievable  one  which  was  being 
enacted  at  this  same  hour  far  away  on  the  road  to  Ge- 
nappe. 

After  the  booming  of  the  cathedral  clock,  de  Marmont 
had  ceased  to  struggle :  he  accepted  defeat  probably  because 
he,  too — in  spite  of  himself — saw  that  the  day  of  his  idol's 
destiny  was  over,  and  that  the  brilliant  Star  which  had 
glittered  on  the  firmament  of  Europe  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  had  by  the  will  of  God  now  irretrievably  declined. 
He  had  accepted  Crystal's  ministrations  for  his  comfort 
with  a  look  of  gratitude.  Jeanne  had  put  a  pillow  to  his 
head,  and  he  lay  now  outwardly  placid  and  quiescent. 

Even,  perhaps — for  such  is  human  nature  and  such  the 
heart  of  youth — ^as  he  saw  Crystal's  sweet  face  bent  with 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  361 

so  much  pity  toward  him  a  sense  of  hope,  of  happiness  yet 
to  be,  chased  the  more  melancholy  thoughts  away.  Crys- 
tal was  kind — he  argued  to  himself — she  has  already  for- 
given— women  are  so  ready  to  forgive  faults  and  errors 
that  spring  from  an  intensity  of  love. 

He  sought  her  hand  and  she  gave  it — just  as  a  sweet 
Sister  of  Mercy  and  Gentleness  would  do,  for  whom  the 
individual  man — even  the  enemy — does  not  exist — only  the 
suffering  human  creature  whom  her  touch  can  soothe.  He 
persuaded  himself  easily  enough  that  when  he  pressed  her 
hand  she  returned  the  pressure,  and  renewed  hope  went 
forth  once  more  soaring  upon  the  wings  of  fancy. 

Then  the  doctor  came.  M.  le  Comte  had  been  fortunate 
in  securing  him — had  with  impulsive  generosity  promised 
him  ample  payment — and  then  brought  him  along  without 
delay.  He  praised  Mile,  de  Cambray  for  her  kindness  to 
the  patient,  asked  a  few  questions  as  to  how  the  accident 
had  occurred,  and  was  satisfied  that  M.  de  Marmont  had 
slipped  on  the  tiled  floor  and  then  struck  his  head  against 
the  door.  He  was  not  likely  to  examine  the  purple  bruises 
on  the  patient's  throat :  his  business  began  and  ended  with 
a  broken  leg  to  mend.  As  M.  le  Comte  de  Cambray  as- 
sured him  that  iM.  de  Marmont  was  very  wealthy,  the 
worthy  doctor  most  readily  offered  his  patient  the  hospital- 
ity of  his  own  house  until  complete  recovery. 

He  then  superintended  the  lifting  of  the  sick  man  on  to 
the  stretcher,  and  having  taken  final  leave  of  M.  le  Comte, 
Mademoiselle  and  all  those  concerned  and  given  his  in- 
structions to  the  bearers,  he  was  the  first  to  leave  th^  house. 

M.  le  Comte,  pleasantly  conscious  of  Christian  duty 
toward  an  enemy  nobly  fulfilled,  nodded  curtly  to  de  Mar- 
mont, whom  he  hated  with  all  his  heart,  and  then  turned 
his  back  on  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  scene,  fervently  wish- 
ing that  it  had  never  occurred  in  his  house,  and  equally 
fervently  thankful  that  the  accident  had  not  more  fateful 


362  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

consequences.  He  retired  to  his  smoking-room,  calling  to 
St.  Genis  and  to  Crystal  to  follow  him. 

But  Crystal  did  not  go  at  once.  She  stood  in  the  dark 
corridor — quite  still — watching  the  stretcher  bearers  in  their 
careful,  silent  work,  little  guessing  on  what  a  filmy  thread 
her  whole  destiny  was  hanging  at  this  moment.  The  Fates 
were  spinning,  spinning,  spinning  and  she  did  not  know  it. 
Had  the  solemn  silence  which  hung  so  ominously  in  the 
twilight  not  been  broken  till  after  the  sick  man  had  been 
borne  away,  the  whole  of  Crystal's  future  would  have  been 
shaped  differently. 

But  as  with  the  rain  at  Waterloo,  God  had  need  of  a 
tool  for  the  furtherance  of  His  will  and  it  was  Maurice 
de  St.  Genis  whom  He  chose — Maurice  who  with  his  own 
words  set  the  final  seal  to  his  destiny. 

De  Marmont's  eyes  as  he  was  being  carried  over  the 
threshold  dwelt  upon  the  graceful  form  of  Crystal — clad 
all  in  white — all  womanliness  and  gentleness  now — her 
sweet  face  only  faintly  distinguishable  in  the  gloom.  St. 
Genis,  whose  nerves  were  still  jarred  with  all  that  he  had 
gone  through  to-day  and  irritated  by  Crystal's  assiduity  be- 
side the  sick  man,  resented  that  last  look  of  farewell  which 
de  Marmont  dared  to  throw  upon  the  woman  whom  he 
loved.  An  ungenerous  impulse  caused  him  to  try  and  aim  a 
last  moral  blow  at  his  enemy : 

"Come,  Crystal,"  he  said  coldly,  "the  man  has  been  bet- 
ter looked  after  than  he  deserves.  But  for  your  father's 
interference  I  should  have  wrung  his  neck  like  the  cowardly 
brute  that  he  was." 

And  with  the  masterful  air  of  a  man  who  has  both  right 
and  privilege  on  his  side,  he  put  his  arm  round  Crystal's 
waist  and  tried  to  draw  her  away,  and  as  he  did  so  he  whis- 
pered a  tender:    "Come,  Crystal!"  in  her  ear. 

De  Marmont — who  at  this  moment  was  taking  a  last  fond 
look  at  the  girl  he  loved,  and  was  busy  the  while  making 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  363 

plans  for  a  happy  future  wherein  Crystal  would  play  the 
chief  role  and  would  console  him  for  all  disappointments 
by  the  magnitude  of  her  love — de  Marmont  was  brought 
back  from  the  land  of  dreams  by  the  tender  whisperings 
of  his  rival.  His  own  helplessness  sent  a  flood  of  jealous 
wrath  surging  up  to  his  brain.  The  wild  hatred  which 
he  had  always  felt  for  St.  Genis  ever  since  that  awful 
humiliation  which  he  had  suffered  at  Brestalou,  now  blinded 
him  to  everything  save  to  the  fact  that  here  was  a  rival 
who  was  gloating  over  his  helplessness — a  man  who  twice 
already  had  humiliated  him  before  Crystal  de  Cambray — a 
man  who  had  every  advantage  of  caste  and  of  community 
of  sympathy!  a  man  therefore  who  must  be  in  his  turn 
irretrievably  crushed  in  the  sight  of  the  woman  whom  he 
still  hoped  to  win ! 

De  Marmont  had  no  definite  idea  as  to  what  he  meant  to 
do.  Perhaps,  just  at  this  moment,  the  pale,  intangible 
shadow  of  Reason  had  lifted  up  one  corner  of  the  veil 
that  hid  the  truth  from  before  his  eyes — the  absolute  and 
naked  fact  that  Crystal  de  Cambray  was  not  destined  for 
him.  She  would  never  marry  him — never.  The  Empire 
of  France  was  no  more — the  Emperor  was  a  fugitive.  To 
St.  Genis  and  his  caste  belonged  the  future — and  the  turn 
had  come  for  the  adherents  of  the  fallen  Emperor  to  sink 
into  obscurity  or  to  go  into  exile. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  in  this  fateful  mo- 
ment de  Marmont  was  only  conscious  of  an  all-powerful 
overwhelming  feeling  of  hatred  and  the  determination  that 
whatever  happened  to  himself  he  must  and  would  prevent 
St.  Genis  from  ever  approaching  Crystal  de  Cambray  with 
words  of  love  again.  That  he  had  the  power  to  do  this 
he  was  fully  conscious. 

"Crystal!"  he  called,  and  at  the  same  time  ordered  the 
bearers  to  halt  on  the  doorstep  for  a  moment.  "Crystal, 
will  you  give  me  your  hand  in  farewell?" 


364  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

The  young  girl  would  probably  have  complied  with  his 
wish,  but  St.  Genis  interposed. 

"Crystal,"  he  said  authoritatively,  "your  father  has  al- 
ready called  you.  You  have  done  everything  that  Chris- 
tian charity  demands.  .  .  ."  And  once  more  he  tried  to 
draw  the  young  girl  away. 

"Do  not  touch  her,  man,"  called  de  Marmont  in  a  loud 
voice,  "a  coward  like  you  has  no  right  to  touch  the  hand 
of  a  good  woman." 

"M.  de  Marmont,"  broke  in  Crystal  hotly,  "you  presume 
on  your  helplessness.  .  .  ." 

"Pay  no  heed  to  the  ravings  of  a  maniac,  Crystal,"  in- 
terposed St.  Genis  calmly,  "he  has  fallen  so  low  now,  that 
contemptuous  pity  is  all  that  he  deserves." 

"And  contempt  without  pity  is  all  that  you  deserve,  M. 
le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis,"  cried  de  Marmont  excitedly.  "Ask 
him.  Mademoiselle  Crystal,  ask  him  where  is  the  man  who 
to-day  saved  his  life?  whom  I  myself  saw  to-day  on  the 
roadside,  wounded  and  half  dead  with  fatigue,  on  horse- 
back, with  the  inert  body  of  M.  de  St.  Genis  lying  across 
his  saddle-bow.  Ask  him  how  he  came  to  lie  across  that 
saddle-bow?  and  whether  his  English  friend  and  mine, 
Bobby  Clyffurde,  did  not — as  any  who  passed  by  could 
guess — drag  him  out  of  that  hell  at  Waterloo  and  bring 
him  into  safety,  whilst  risking  his  own  Hfe.  Ask  him," 
he  continued,  working  himself  up  into  a  veritable  fever  of 
vengeful  hatred,  as  he  saw  that  St.  Genis — sullen  and  glow- 
ering— was  doing  his  best  to  drag  Crystal  away,  to  prevent 
her  from  listening  further  to  this  awful  indictment,  these 
ravings  of  a  lunatic  half-distraught  with  hate.  "Ask  him 
where  is  Clyffurde  now  ?  to  what  lonely  spot  he  has  crawled 
in  order  to  die  while  M.  le  Marquis  de  St.  Genis  came  back 
in  gay  apparel  to  court  Mile.  Crystal  de  Cambray?  Ah! 
M.  de  St.  Genis,  you  tried  to  heap  opprobrium  upon  me — 
you  talked  glibly  of  contempt  and  of  pity.    Of  a  truth  'tis 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  865 

I  do  pity  you  now,  for  Mademoiselle  Crystal  will  surely  ask 
you  all  those  questions,  and  by  the  Lord  I  marvel  how 
you  will  answer  them." 

He  fell  back  exhausted,  in  a  dead  faint  no  doubt,  and  St. 
Genis  with  a  wild  cry  like  that  of  a  beast  in  fury  seized  the 
nearest  weapon  that  came  to  his  hand — a  heavy  oak  chair 
which  stood  against  the  wall  in  the  corridor — and  bran- 
dished it  over  his  head.  He  would — had  not  Crystal  at  once 
interposed — have  killed  de  Marmont  with  one  blow :  even  so 
he  tried  to  avoid  Crystal  in  order  to  forge  for  himself  a 
clear  passage,  to  free  himself  from  all  trammels  so  that  he 
might  indulge  his  lust  to  kill. 

"Take  the  sick  man  away !  quickly !"  cried  Crystal  to  the 
stretcher  bearers.  And  they — realising  the  danger — the 
aw  fulness  of  the  tragedy  which,  with  that  clumsy  weapon 
wielded  by  a  man  who  was  maddened  with  rage,  was  hover- 
ing in  the  air,  hurried  over  the  threshold  with  their  burden 
as  fast  as  they  could :  then  out  into  the  street :  and  Crystal 
seizing  hold  of  the  front  door  shut  it  to  with  a  loud  bang 
after  them. 

VI 

Then  with  a  cry  that  was  just  primitive  in  its  passion — 
savage  almost  like  that  of  a  lioness  in  the  desert  who  has 
been  robbed  of  her  young — she  turned  upon  St.  Genis: 

"Where  is  he  now  ?"  she  called,  and  her  voice  was  quite 
unrecognisable,  harsh  and  hoarse  and  peremptory. 

"Crystal,  let  me  assure  you,"  protested  Maurice,  "that  I 
have  already  done  all  that  lay  in  my  power.    ..." 

"Where  is  he  now?"  she  broke  in  with  the  same  fierce 
intensity. 

She  stood  there  before  him — ^wild,  haggard,  palpitating— 
a  passionate  creature  passionately  demanding  to  know 
where  the  loved  one  was.  It  seemed  as  if  she  would  have 
torn  the  words  out  of  St.  Genis'  throat,  so  bitter  and  in- 


see  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

tense  was  the  look  of  contempt  and  of  hatred  wherCwith 
she  looked  on  him. 

M.  le  Comte — very  much  upset  and  ruffled  by  all  that  he 
had  heard — came  out  of  his  room  just  in  time  to  see  the 
stretcher-bearers  disappearing  with  their  burden  through  the 
front  door,  and  the  door  itself  closed  to  with  a  bang  by 
Crystal.  Truly  his  sense  of  decorum  and  of  the  fitness  of 
things  had  received  a  severe  shock  and  now  he  had  the 
additional  mortification  of  seeing  his  beautiful  daughter — 
his  dainty  and  aristocratic  Crystal — in  a  state  bordering  on 
frenzy. 

"My  darling  Crystal,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  made  his  way 
quickly  to  her  side  and  put  a  restraining  hand  upon  her 
arm. 

But  Crystal  now  was  far  beyond  his  control :  she  shook 
off  his  hand — she  paid  no  heed  to  him,  she  went  closer  up 
to  St.  Genis  and  once  more  repeated  her  ardent,  passionate 
query: 

"Where  is  he  now?"  |l 

"At  the  English  hospital,  I  hope,"  said  St.  Genis  with 
as  much  cool  dignity  as  he  could  command.  "Have  I  not  as- 
sured you.  Crystal,  that  I've  done  all  I  could  ?  .  .  ." 

"At  the  English  hospital?  .  .  .  you  hope?  .  .  ."  she  re- 
torted in  a  voice  that  sounded  trenchant  and  shrill  through 
the  overwhelming  passion  which  shook  and  choked  it  in 
her  throat.  "But  the  roadside — where  you  left  him  .  .  . 
to  die  in  a  ditch  perhaps  .  .  .  like  a  dog  that  has  no  home  ? 
.  .  .  where  was  that?" 

"I  gave  full  directions  at  the  English  hospital,"  he  re- 
plied. "I  arranged  for  an  ambulance  to  go  and  find  him 
...  for  a  bed  for  him  ,  .  .  I.  .  .  ." 

"Give  me  those  directions,"  she  commanded. 

"On  the  way  to  Waterloo  ...  on  the  left  side  of  the 
road  .  .  .  close  by  the  six  kilometre  milestone  .  .  .  the 
angle  of  the  forest  of  Soigne  is  just  there  .  .  .  and  there 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  367 

is  a  meadow  which  joins  the  edge  of  the  wood  where  they 
were  making  hay  to-day.  .  ,  .  No  driver  can  fail  to  find 
the  place,  Crystal  .  .  .  the  ambulance.  .  .  ." 

But  now  she  was  no  longer  listening  to  him.  She  had 
abruptly  turned  her  back  on  him  and  made  for  the  door. 
Her  father  interposed. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do,  Crystal?"  he  said  peremp- 
torily. 

"Go  to  him,  of  course,"  she  said  quietly — for  she  was 
quite  calm  now — at  any  rate  outwardly — strong  and  of  set 
purpose. 

"But  you  do  not  know  where  he  is." 

"I'll  go  to  the  English  hospital  first  .  .  .  father,  dear,  will 
you  let  me  pass?" 

"Crystal,"  said  M.  le  Comte  firmly,  as  he  stood  his  ground 
between  his  daughter  and  the  door,  "you  cannot  go  rushing 
through  the  streets  of  Brussels  alone — at  this  hour  of  the 
night — through  all  the  soldiery  and  all  the  drunken  rabble." 

"He  is  dying,"  she  retorted,  "and  I  am  going  to  find 
him.  .  .  ." 

"You  have  taken  leave  of  your  senses,  Crystal,"  said  the 
Comte  sternly.  "You  seem  to  have  forgotten  your  own 
personal  dignity.  .  .  ." 

"Father!  let  me  go!"  she  demanded — for  she  had  tried 
to  measure  her  physical  strength  against  his,  and  he  was 
holding  her  wrists  now  whilst  a  look  of  great  anger  was 
on  his  face. 

"I  tell  you.  Crystal,"  he  said,  "that  you  cannot  go.  I  will 
do  all  that  lies  in  my  power  in  the  matter :  I  promise  you : 
and  Maurice,"  he  added  harshly,  "if  he  has  a  spark  of  man- 
hood left  in  him  will  do  his  best  to  second  me  .  .  .  but  I 
cannot  allow  my  daughter  to  go  into  the  streets  at  this  hour 
of  the  night." 

"But  you  cannot  prevent  your  sister  from  doing  as  she 
likes,"  here  broke  in  a  tart  voice  from  the  back  of  the 


368  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

corridor.  "Crystal,  child !  try  and  bear  up  while  I  run  to 
the  English  hospital  first  and,  if  necessary,  to  the  English 
doctor  afterwards.  And  you,  Monsieur  my  brother,  be 
good  enough  to  allow  Jeanne  to  open  the  door  for  me." 

And  Madame  la  Duchesse  d'Agen  in  bonnet  and  shawl, 
helpful  and  practical,  made  her  way  quietly  to  the  door, 
preceded  by  faithful  Jeanne.  With  a  cry  of  infinite  relief 
— almost  of  happiness — Crystal  at  last  managed  to  disen- 
gage herself  from  her  father's  grasp  and  ran  to  the  old 
woman:  ^'Ma  tante"  she  said  imploringly,  "take  me  with 
you  .  .  .  if  I  do  not  go  to  find  him  now  ...  at  once  .  .  . 
my  heart  will  break." 

M.  le  Comte  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  stood  aside. 
He  knew  that  in  an  argument  with  his  sister,  he  would 
surely  be  worsted :  and  there  was  a  look  in  Madame's  face 
which,  even  in  this  dim  twilight,  he  knew  how  to  interpret. 
It  meant  that  Madame  would  carry  out  her  programme  just 
as  she  had  stated  it,  and  that  she  would  take  Crystal  with 
her — with  or  without  the  father's  consent.  So,  realising 
this,  M.  le  Comte  had  but  one  course  left  open  to  him  and 
that  was  to  safeguard  his  own  dignity  by  making  the  best 
of  this  situation — of  which  he  still  highly  disapproved. 

"Well,  my  dear  Sophie,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  if  you  insist 
on  having  your  way,  you  must  have  it:  though  what  the 
women  of  our  rank  are  coming  to  nowadays  I  cannot 
imagine.  At  the  same  time  I  for  my  part  must  insist  that 
Crystal  at  least  puts  on  a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  does  not 
career  about  the  streets  dressed  like  a  kitchen  wench." 

"Crystal,"  whispered  Madame,  who  was  nothing  if  not 
practical,  "do  as  your  father  wishes — it  will  save  a  lot  of 
argument  and  save  time  as  well." 

But  even  before  the  words  were  out  of  Madame's  mouth, 
Crystal  was  running  along  the  corridor — ready  to  obey.  At 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  St.  Genis  intercepted  her. 

"Let  me  pass !"  she  cried  wildly. 


THE  LOSING  HANDS  369 

"Not  before  you  have  said  that  you  have  forgiven  me!" 
he  entreated  as  he  clung  to  her  white  draperies  with  a  pas- 
sionate gesture  of  appeal. 

An  exclamation  which  was  almost  one  of  loathing  es- 
caped her  lips  and  with  a  jerk  she  freed  her  skirt  from  his 
clutch.  Then  she  ran  quickly  up  the  stairs.  Outside  the 
door  of  her  own  room  on  the  first  landing  she  paused  for 
one  minute,  and  from  out  of  the  gloom  her  voice  came  to 
him  like  the  knell  of  passing  hope. 

"If  he  comes  back  alive  out  of  the  hell  to  which  you  con- 
demned him,"  she  said,  "I  may  in  the  future  endure  the 
sight  of  you  again.  .  .  .  If  he  dies  .  .  .  may  God  forgive 
you!" 

The  opening  and  shutting  of  a  door  told  him  that  she 
was  gone,  and  he  was  left  in  company  with  his  shame. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  WINNING  HAND 

Until  far  into  the  night  the  air  reverberated  with  inces- 
sant cannonade — from  the  direction  of  Genappe  and  from 
that  of  Wavre — ^but  just  before  dawn  all  was  still.  The 
stream  of  convoys  which  bore  the  wounded  along  the  road 
to  Brussels  from  Mont  Saint  Jean  and  Hougoumont  and 
La  Haye  Sainte  had  momentarily  ceased  its  endless  course. 
The  sky  had  that  perfect  serenity  of  a  midsummer's  night, 
starlit  and  azure  with  the  honey-coloured  moon  sinking 
slowly  down  towards  the  west.  Here  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood  the  air  had  a  sweet  smell  of  wet  earth  and  damp  moss 
and  freshly  cut  hay:  it  had  all  the  delicious  softness  of  a 
loved  one's  embrace. 

Through  the  roar  of  distant  cannonade,  Bobby  had  slept. 
For  a  time  after  St.  Genis  left  him  he  had  watched  the  long 
straight  road  with  dull,  unseeing  eyes — he  had  seen  the  first 
convoy,  overfilled  with  wounded  men  lying  huddled  on 
heaped-up  straw,  and  had  thanked  God  that  he  was  lying 
on  this  exquisitely  soft  carpet  made  of  thousands  of  tiny 
green  plants — ^moss,  grass,  weeds,  young  tendrils  and  grow- 
ing buds  and  opening  leaves  that  were  delicious  to  the 
touch.  He  had  quite  forgotten  that  he  was  wounded — 
neither  his  head  nor  his  leg  nor  l\is  arm  seemed  to  hurt  him 
now :  and  he  was  able  to  think  in  peace  of  Crystal  and  of 
her  happiness. 

St.  Genis  would  have  come  to  her  by  then :  she  would 
be  happy  to  see  him  safe  and  well,  and  perhaps — in  the 

I 


THE  WINNING  HAND  371 

midst  of  her  joy — she  would  think  of  the  friend  who  so 
gladly  offered  up  his  life  for  her. 

When  the  air  around  was  no  longer  shaken  by  constant 
repercussion,  Bobby  fell  asleep.  It  was  not  yet  dawn,  even 
though  far  away  in  the  east  there  was  a  luminous  veil  that 
made  the  sky  look  like  living  silver.  Behind  him  among 
the  trees  there  was  a  moving  and  a  fluttering — the  birds 
were  no  longer  asleep — they  had  not  begun  to  sing  but  they 
were  shaking  out  their  feathers  and  opening  tiny,  round  eyes 
in  farewell  to  departing  night. 

That  gentle  fluttering  was  a  sweet  lullaby,  and  Bobby 
slept  and  dreamed — he  dreamed  that  the  fluttering  became 
louder  and  louder,  and  that,  instead  of  birds,  it  was  a 
group  of  angels  that  shook  their  wings  and  stood  around 
him  as  he  slept. 

One  of  the  angels  came  nearer  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
head — and  Bobby  dreamed  that  the  angel  spoke  and  the 
words  that  it  said  filled  Bobby's  heart  with  unearthly  hap- 
piness. 

"My  love!  my  love!"  the  angel  said,  "will  you  try  and 
live  for  my  sake?" 

And  Bobby  would  not  open  his  eyes,  for  fear  the  angel 
should  go  away.  And  though  he  knew  exactly  where  he 
was,  and  could  feel  the  soft  carpet  of  leaves,  and  smell 
the  sweet  moisture  in  the  air,  he  knew  that  he  must  still 
be  dreaming,  for  angels  are  not  of  this  earth. 

Then  a  strong  kind  hand  touched  his  wrist,  and  felt  the 
beating  of  his  heart,  and  a  rough,  pleasant  voice  said  in 
English:  "He  is  exhausted  and  very  weak,  but  the  fever 
is  not  high:  he  will  soon  be  all  right."  And  to  add  to 
the  wonderful  strangeness  of  his  dream,  the  angel's  voice 
near  him  murmured :    "Thank  God !  thank  God !" 

Why  should  an  angel  thank  God  that  he — Bobby  Clyf- 
furde — was  not  likely  to  die? 

He  opened  his  eyes  to  see  what  it  all  meant,  and  he  saw 


872  THE  BRONZE  EAGLE 

— bending  over  him — a  face  that  was  more  exquisitely  fair 
than  any  that  man  had  ever  seen :  eyes  that  were  more  blue 
than  the  sky  above,  lips  that  trembled  like  rose-leaves  in 
the  breeze.  He  was  still  dreaming  and  there  was  a  haze  be- 
tween him  and  that  perfect  vision  of  loveliness.  And  the 
kind,  rough  voice  somewhere  close  by  said :  "Have  you 
got  that  stretcher  ready?"  and  two  other  voices  replied, 
"Yes,  Sir." 

But  the  lips  close  above  him  said  nothing,  and  it  was 
Bobby  now   who  murmured:     "My  love,   is   it   you?" 

"Your  love  for  always,"  the  dear  lips  replied,  "nothing 
shall  part  us  now.  Yours  for  always  to  bring  you  back  to 
life.    Yours  when  you  will  claim  me — ^yours  for  life." 

They  lifted  him  onto  a  stretcher,  and  then  into  a  car- 
riage and  a  very  kind  face  which  he  quickly  enough  recog- 
nised as  Mme.  la  Duchesse  d'Agen's  smiled  very  encour- 
agingly upon  him,  whereupon  he  could  not  help  but  ask  a 
very  pertinent  question : 

"Mme.  la  Duchesse,  is  all  this  really  happening?" 

"Why,  yes,  my  good  man,"  Madame  replied ;  and  indeed 
there  was  nothing  dreamlike  in  her  tart,  dry  voice :  "Crys- 
tal and  I  really  have  dragged  Dr.  Scott  away  from  the 
bedside  of  innumerable  other  sick  and  wounded  men,  and 
also  from  any  hope  of  well-earned  rest  to-night :  we  have 
also  really  brought  him  to  a  spot  very  accurately  described 
by  our  worthy  friend,  St.  Genis,  but  where,  unfortunately, 
you  had  not  chosen  to  remain,  else  we  had  found  you  an 
hour  sooner.    Is  there  anything  else  you  want  to  know?" 

"Oh,  yes !  Madame  la  Duchesse,  many  things,"  murmured 
Bobby.    "Please  go  on  telling  me." 

Madame  laughed :  "Well !"  she  said,  "perhaps  you  would 
like  to  know  that  some  kind  of  instinct,  or  perhaps  the  hand 
of  God  guided  one  of  our  party  to  the  place  where  you 
had  gone  to  sleep.  You  may  also  wish  to  know,  that 
though  you  seem  in  a  bad  way  for  the  present,  you  are 


THE  WINNING  HAND  373 

going  to  be  nursed  back  to  life  under  Dr.  Scott's  own  most 
hospitable  roof :  but  since  Crystal  has  undertaken  to  do  the 
nursing,  I  imagine  that  my  time  for  the  next  six  weeks  will 
be  taken  up  in  arguing  with  my  dear  and  pompous  brother 
that  he  will  now  have  to  give  his  consent  to  his  daughter 
becoming  the  wife  of  a  vendor  of  gloves." 

Bobby  contrived  to  smile :  "Do  you  think  that  if  I  prom- 
ised never  to  buy  or  sell  gloves  again,  but  in  future  to  try 
and  live  like  a  gentleman — do  you  think  then  that  he  will 
consent  ?" 

"I  think,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Madame,  subduing  her  harsh 
voice  to  tones  of  gentleness,  "that  after  my  brother  knows 
all  that  I  know  and  all  that  his  daughter  desires,  he  will 
be  proud  to  welcome  you  as  his  son." 

The  doctor's  wide  barouche  lumbered  slowly  along  the 
wide,  straight  road.  In  the  east  the  luminous  veil  that  still 
hid  the  rising  sun  had  taken  on  a  hue  of  rosy  gold :  the 
birds,  now  fully  awake,  sang  their  morning  hymn.  From 
the  direction  of  Wavre  came  once  more  the  cannon's  roar. 

Inside  the  carriage  Dr.  Scott,  sitting  at  the  feet  of  his 
patient,  gave  a  peremptory  order  for  silence.  But  Bobby — 
immeasurably  happy  and  contented — looked  up  and  saw 
Crystal  de  Cambray — no  longer  a  girl  now,  but  a  fair  and 
beautiful  woman  who  had  learned  to  the  last  letter  the  ful- 
some lesson  of  Lx)ve.  She  sat  close  beside  him,  and  her 
ami  was  round  his  reclining  head,  and,  looking  at  her,  he 
saw  the  lovelight  in  her  dear  eyes  whenever  she  turned  them 
on  him.  And  anon,  when  Mme.  la  Duchesse  engaged  Dr. 
Scott  in  a  close  and  heated  argument,  Bobby  felt  sweet- 
scented  lips  pressed  against  his  own. 


THE  END 


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Husbands  of  Edith,  The George  Barr  McCutcheon 

niustrious  Prince,  The E  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Imposter,  The John  Reed  Scott 

In  Defiance  of  the  King Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The Grace  S.  Richmond 

Inez  (III.  Ed.) Augusta  J.  Evans 

Infelice Augusta  Evans  Wilson 

Initials  Only Anna  Katharine  Green 

Innocent Marie  Corelli 

Intriguers,  The Harold  Bindloss 

Iron  Trail,  The Rex  Beach 

Iron  Woman,  The Margaret  Deland 

Ishmael  (111.) Mrs.  Southworth 

Island  of  Regeneration,  The. Cyras  Townsend  Brady 

Island  of  the  Stairs,  The Cyrus  Townsend  Brady 

Japonette Robert  W.  Chambers 

Jane  Cable George  Barr  McCutcheon 

Jeanne  of  the  Marshes E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Jennie  Gerhardt Theodore  Dreiser 

Joyful  Heatherby Payne  Erskine 

Jude  the  Obscure Thomas  Hardy 

Judgment  House,  The Gilbert  Parker 

Keith  of  the  Border Randall  Parrish 

Kent  Knowles:  "Quahaug" Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Kingsmead Bettina  Von  Hutten 

Knave  of  Diamonds,  The Ethel  M.  Dell 

Ladder  of  Swords,  A Gilbert  Parker 

Lady  and  the  Pirate,  The Emerson  Hough 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Lady  Merton,  Colonist Mrs.  Humphry  Ward 

Land  of  Long  Ago,  The Eliza  Calvert  Hall 

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Last  Trail,  The  (new  edition) Zane  Grey 

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Life  Mask,  The Author  of  "To  M.  L.  G." 

Lighted  Way,  The E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Lin  McLean Owen  Wister 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Klldare Meredith  Nicholson 

Lone  Wolf,  The Louis  Joseph  Vance 

Lonesome  Land B  M.  Bower 

Lord  Loveland  Discovers  America. 

C.  N.  and  A,  M.  Williamson 

Lorraine Robert  W.  Chambers 

Lost  Ambassador E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

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Loves  of  Lady  Arabella Mollie  Elliott  Seawell 

Loves  of  Miss  Anne,  The S.  R.  Crockett 

Love  Under  Fire Randall  Parrish 

Macaria  (111.  Ed.) Augusta  J.  Evans 

Mademoiselle  Celeste Adele  F.  Knight 

Maids  of  Paradise,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 

Maid  of  the  Forest,  The Randall  Parrish 

Maid  of  the  Whispering  Hills Vingie  E.  Roe 

Mam'  Linda Will  N.  Harben 

Man  Outside,  The Wyndham  Martyn 

Marriage H.  G.  Wells 

Marriage  a  la  Mode Mrs.  Humphry  Ward 

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Mary  Moreland Marie  Van  Vorst 

Master  Mummer,  The E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Max Katherine  Cecil  Thurston 

Maxwell  Mystery,  The Carolyn  Wells 

Mediator,  The Roy  Norton 

Memoir*  of  Sherlock  Holmes A.  Conan  Doyle 

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Miss  Gibbie  Gault Kate  Langley  Bosher 

Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown F.  M.  Kingsley 

Miss  Selina  Lue Maria  Thompson  Daviess 

Molly  McDonald Randall  Parrish 

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Moth,  The William  Dana  Orcutt 

Mountain  Girl,  The Payne  Erskine 

Mr.  Bingle George  Barr  McCutcheon 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Mr.  Pratt Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Mr.  Pratt's  Patients Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper Grace  S.  Richmond 

My  Demon  Motor  Boat George  Fitch 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur. .  ..C.N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

My  Lady  Caprice Jeffrey  Farnol 

My  Lady  of  Doubt Randall  Parrish 

My  Lady  of  the  North Randall  Parrish 

My  Lady  of  the  South Randall  Parrish 

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Ne'er-Do-Well,  The Rex  Beach 

Net,  The Rex  Beach 

New  Clarion,  The Will  N.  Harben 

Night  Riders,  The Ridgwell  Cullum 

Night  Watches W.  W.  Jacobs 

Officer  666 B.  W.  Carrie  and  A.  McHugh 

Once  Upon  a  Time Richard  Harding  Davis 

One  Braver  Thing Richard  Dehan 

One  Way  Trail,  The Ridgwell  Cullum 

Otherwise  Phyllis Meredith  Nicholson 

Out  of  the  Primitive Robert  Ames  Bennet 

Pair  of  Silk  Stockings Cyril  Harcourt 

Palace  of  Darkened  Windows Af.  H.  Bradley 

Pardners Rex  Beach 

Parrot  &  Co Harold  MacGrath 

Partners  of  the  Tide Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Passionate  Friends,  The H.  G.  Wells 

Patience  of  John  Moreland,  The Mary  Dillon 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail Ralph  Connor 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian Hiram  W  Hayes 

People's  Man,  A E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Perch  of  the  Devil Gertrude  Atherton 

Peter  Ruff E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Phillip  Steele James  Oliver  Curwood 

Phra  the  Phoenician Edwin  L.  Arnold 


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Pidgin  Island Harold  MacGrath 

Place  of  Honeymoons,  The Harold  MacGrath 

Plunderer,  The Roy  Norton 

Pole  Baker Will  N.  Harben 

Pool  of  Flame,  The Louis  Joseph  Vanre 

Polly  of  the  Circus Margaret  Mayo 

Poppy Cynthia  Stockley 

Port  of  Adventure C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Postmaster,  The Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The Grace  McGowan  Cooke 

Price  of  Love,  The Arnold  Bennett 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The Margaret  Hill  McCarter 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A A.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Princess  Dehra,  The John  Reed  Scott 

Princess  Passes,  The C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Princess  Virginia,  The C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Prisoners  of  Chance Randall  Parrish 

Purple  Parasol,  The George  Barr  McCutcheon 

Ranch  at  the  "Wolverine,  The B.  M.  Bower 

Ranching  for  Sylvia Harold  Bindloss 

Reason  Why,  The Elinor  Glyn 

Red  Cross  Girl,  The Richard  Harding  Davis 

Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait Will  N.  Harben 

Red  Lane,  The Holman  Day 

Red  Mist,  The Randall  Parrish 

Red  Mouse,  The Wm.  Hamilton  Osborne 

Red  Pepper  Burns Grace  S.  Richmond 

Red  Republic,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 

Return  of  Tarzan,  The Edgar  Rice  Burroughs 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The Anne  Warner 

Rim  of  the  Desert,  The Ada  Woodruff  Anderson 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Road  to  Providence Maria  Thompson  Daviess 

Robinetta Kate  Douglas  Wiggin 

Romance  of  a  Plain  Man,  The Ellen  Glasgow 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The Ethel  M.  Dell 

Rose  in  the  Ring,  The George  Barr  McCutcheon 

Rose  of  the  World Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth Maria  Thompson  Daviess 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street G.  S.  Richmond 


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Routledge  Rides  Alone Will  L,  Comfort 

St.  Elmo  (III.  Ed.) Augusta  J.  Evans 

Salamander,  The Owen  Johnson 

Second  Violin,  The Grace  S.  Richmond 

Secret  of  the  Reef Harold  Bindloss 

Secrets  of  the  German  "War  Office Dr.  A.  K.  Graves 

Seffy John  Luther  Long 

Self-Raised  (111.) Mrs.  Southworth 

Septimus William  J.  Locke 

Set  in  Silver C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Sharrow Bettina  Von  Hutten 

Shea  of  the  Irish  Brigade Randall  Parrish 

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Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The Ridgwell  Cullum 

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Silver  Horde,  The Rex  Beach 

Simon  the  Jester William  J.  Locke 

Siren  of  the  Snows,  A Stanle-^  Shaw 

Sir  Richard  Calmady Lucas  Malet 

Sixty-First  Second,  The Owen  Johnson 

Speckled  Bird,  A Augusta  Evans  Wilson 

Slim  Princess,  The George  Ade 

Spirit  in  Prfeon,  A Robert  Hichens 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The  (new  edition) Zane  Grey 

^oilers,  The Rex  Beach 

Still  Jim Honore  Willsie 

Stolen  Singer,  The Martha  Bellinger 

Stooping  Lady,  The Maurice  Hewlitt 

Story  of  Marco,  The Eleanor  H.  Porter 

Strange  Disappearance,  A Anna  Katharine  Green 

Strawberry  Acres Grace  S.  Richmond 

Strawberry  Handkerchief,  The Amelia  E.  Barr 

Streets  of  Ascalon,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 

Sunshine  Jane Anne  Warner 

Susan  Clegg  and  Her  Friend  Mrs.  Lathrop.  ...A.  Warner 

Sword  of  the  Old  Frontier,  A Randall  Parrish 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes A.  Conan  Doyle 

Tarzan  of  the  Apes Edgar  R.  Burroughs 

Taste  of  Apples,  The Jennette  Lee 

Templing  of  Tavemake,  The E.  P.  Oppcnheim 


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Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles Thos.  Hardy 

That  Affair  Next  Door Anna  Katharine  Green 

That  Printer  of  Udell's Harold  Bell  Wright 

Their  Yesterdays Harold  Bell  Wright 

Three  Brothers,  The Eden  Phillpots 

Throwback,  The Alfred  Henry  Lewis 

Thurston  of  Orchard  Valley Harold  Bindloss 

Title  Market,  The Emily  Post 

To  M.  L.  G.;  or,  He  Who  Passed Anon. 

Tom  Sails:  A  Tale  of  a  Welsh  Village Allen  Raine 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The Ridgwell  Cullum 

Trail  to  Yesterday,  The Chas.  A.  Seltzer 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The Marie  Corelli 

Trevor  Case,  The Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln 

Truth  Dexter Sidney  McCall 

T.  Tembarom Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

Turbulent  Duchess Percy  J.  Brebner 

Twenty-fourth  of  June,  The Grace  S.  Richmond 

Twins  of  Suffering  Creek,  The Ridgwell  Cullum 

Two-Gun  Man,  The Chas.  A.  Seltzer 

Uncle  William Jennette  Lee 

"Unto  Caesar" Baroness  Orczy 

Up  From  Slavery Booker  T.  Washington 

Valiants  of  Virginia,  The Hallie  Erminie  Rives 

Valley  of  Fear,  The Sir  A.  Conan  Doyle 

Vanished  Messenger,  The E.  PhiUips  Oppenheim 

Vane  of  the  Timberlands Harold  Bindloss 

Vashti Augusta  Evans  Wilson 

Village  of  Vagabonds,  A F.  Berkeley  Smith 

Visioning,  The Susan  GlaspeU 

Wall  of  Men,  A Margaret  H.  McCartei 

Wallingford  in  His  Prime Geo.  Randolph  Chestei 

Wanted— A  Chaperon Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

Wanted— A  Matchmaker Paul  Leicester  Ford 

Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The Ridgwell  CuUum 

Way  Home,  The B'W'^  'V!"^ 

Way  of  an  Eagle,  The E.  M.  Dell 

Way  of  a  Man,  The Emerson  Hough 

Way  of  the  Strong,  The Ridg^^ll  Cullum 

Wayfarers,  The ^larv  Sterna  ».=i'v»n4 


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Weavers,  The Gilbert  Parker 

"West  Wind,  The Cyrus  T.  Brady 

When  Wndemess  Was  King Randall  Parrish 

Where  the  Trail  Divides Will  Lillibridge 

Where  There's  a  Will Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 

White  Sister,  The Marion  Crawford 

Who  Goes  There Robert  W.  Chambers 

Window  at  the  White  Cat Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 

Wanning  of  Barbara  Worth Harold  Bell  Wright 

Winning  the  Wilderness Margaret  Hill  MtCarter 

With  Juliet  in  England Grace  S.  Richmond 

Witness  for  the  Defense,  The A.  E.  W.  Mason 

Woman  in  Question,  The John  Reed  Scott 

Woman  Haters,  The Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

Woman  Thou  Gavest  Me,  The Hall  Caine 

Woodcarver  of  'Lympus,  The Mary  E.  Waller 

Woodflre  in  No.  3,  The F.  Hopkinson  Smith 

Wooing  of  Rosamond  Fay  re Berta  Ruck 

Wrecker,  The Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Yellow  Letter,  The William  Johnston 

You  Never  Know  Your  Luck Gilbert  Parker 

Younger  Set,  The Robert  W.  Chambers 


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